


The Bat Lost a Bet

by BatzMaru65 (tmweis2771)



Series: The Bat Lost a Bet [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Clark Kent, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bruce Wayne, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, First Time, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, It's Freeform in a way so don't take it too seriously., Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together, Original Character(s), Semi-Public Sex, Top Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:01:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmweis2771/pseuds/BatzMaru65
Summary: It all started with a bet that Batman lost to Superman, and in the process of trying to take revenge, Bruce and Clark finally cleared their misunderstandings and confessed their feelings. They made it to bed, had wonderful sex and eventually moved in together. Of course, they had help from two original characters as well as Alfred Pennyworth, and eventually some fun with synthetic kryptonite.Modeled on Henry Cavil's Superman x Christian Bale's Batman.No connection to Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice nor Justice League, and loosely based on some facts from Christopher Nolan movies and whatever information I could find from the internet.





	1. The Bat Lost a Bet Part (a)

 

Batman had spent the past few nights, cold and wet, on the rooftop of an abandoned five-storey apartment block. The block, with its gaping windows and sagging doorways, was but one of the many dilapidated structures found scattered like forgotten trash in the east end district of Gotham. Batman had found a vantage point within the deep shadows, where the four-foot parapet merged with a squat brick substructure housing the access stairs. A pair of red rusted-shut fire doors stuck out like a sore thumb on the brick wall.

From here, Batman had a clear line of sight to his target – a garishly-lit nightclub with a hot pink neon sign advertising the name, _Pink Legend_. Muffled music pulsed rhythmically in the night air like the energetic drone of bees, and a row of hot rods gleamed wetly under the light drizzle from one of Gotham’s frequent autumn showers. At irregular intervals, snatches of repetitive techno music blasted out whenever the club’s steel doors swung open to admit or spew out patrons in ones or fews.

Batman scanned another group of arrivals through the night vision lenses in his cowl. He then sighed and dismissed the raucous bunch as harmless drunks. This was the fourth night of the stakeout and Batman had yet to catch a glimpse of his elusive prey - a foreign terrorist cell planning to use the club as a front to stage an attack on Gotham’s downtown. Batman was determined to nip their plans in the bud. Unfortunately, he was not making much headway and the nightly vigil was taking a toil on him. Fatigue hung heavily on him and Batman massaged his temples wearily, feeling the onset of a migraine.

All of a sudden, Batman stiffened in alarm, detecting an unknown presence behind him. He was about to whirl around and fling his batarangs when he recognised the familiar “ _ki_ ” emanating from the intruder. With an annoyed huff, Batman relaxed slightly and returned his weapons to their hiding places. As the intruder neared, Batman spoke brusquely, “Will you bloody stop hovering like a wraith and drop dead before someone sees you.”

Superman blinked in surprise and hunkered down in a flash, blending into the darkness despite the striking red and blue suit he wore. He had taken all precautions to be extremely silent in his approach, and yet, Batman was always able to pinpoint his location unerringly. Superman wanted to ask Batman how he did it, but on an afterthought, he shrugged dismissively. Batman would never tell him anyway and there was no need to spoil the fun. ‘S _neaking up on Batman_ ’ was a challenging delight that Superman enjoyed very much.

With a quick salute, Superman announced cheerfully, “SuperUber at your service.“

Batman pointed a middle finger at Superman and shot him a dirty look. His face was briefly illuminated by the ambient light from the nightclub, and Superman’s heart wrenched in concern at the ashen hue of his face and the bluish tint of his lips. An impulsive urge to pull Batman into his arms surged within Superman, but he suppressed it ruthlessly. He would be dead meat for sure if he had done that. For Batman hated sympathy or unnecessary physical contact of any sort. He only tolerated the touch of others when acting as playboy Bruce Wayne or when in need of medical attention. His so-called _‘sleeping around with women_ ’ were all a sham, successfully carried out with the help of Alfred and non-toxic hallucinogenic drugs.

“Go away and mind your own business,” growled Batman, his face once more hidden by the shadows as he turned back to stare at the nightclub.

“I can’t. Fare’s all paid up for by Mr Alfred Pennyworth and he has this message for you...”

Superman then cleared his throat and did a pretty good impression of Alfred. “ _Mr Wayne. I have authorised Mr Kent the right to do anything to you to get you back to the manor a.s.a.p._ ”

Bruce glowered silently. Clark beamed with pride before he turned solemn and spoke in a flat tone. “It’s time to go home. Mr. Bruce. Wayne.”

_Oh, oh!_

Warning bells started ringing in Bruce’s head and he sucked in his breath as an unwelcomed memory popped into his mind. The other time Clark had addressed him in such a manner, Bruce had refused to back down, not realising how super serious he was. Without warning, Clark had flipped him over his right shoulder, like a sack of potatoes, and flown him back to Wayne Manor at close to supersonic speed. By the time they arrived, Bruce was half-frozen, on the verge of blacking out, trembling and gasping desperately for air. Clark had then proceeded to smack him hard on his butt, right in front of Alfred, before storming off into the sky. Bruce was left with a few day’s worth of sore butt. He could neither sit nor walk properly, and using the toilet was a chore. Both Batman and Bruce Wayne had to take sick leave, whilst Alfred had a field day. He had uncontrollable outbursts of laughter, much to Bruce’s chagrin. Ever since then, Alfred often relied on Superman’s aid whenever Batman proved too stubborn for his own good.

Bruce shuddered at the memory and was about to concede grudgingly when a movement caught his attention. His eyes lit up and he grasped at the excuse to delay his departure a little longer.

“Fine. I’ll call it quits after I’ve checked that out.” He pointed at an oncoming vehicle that was making its unsteady way towards _Pink Legend_.

“That’s a dark blue Grand Cherokee with modified turbochargers sounding like a V6. A total of four passengers, three female, one male driver. Definitely, locals. No foreign accents detected in their off-key singing. Driving’s off too. Most likely due to the high level of intoxication in...” Clark rattled off while Bruce stared daggers at him. Damn the alien with his X-ray vision and his superpowers.

“There, I’ve checked them for you. So let’s go.”

“No! I need to see them with my own eyes. There’re clues that a bumbling amateur like you won’t know how to look out for,” Bruce spoke adamantly while discreetly shifting away from Clark so as to put more distance between them.

Clark frowned in exasperation and was about to take drastic actions when an idea struck him. While Bruce was absorbed in finding a ‘safer’ position, Clark carefully used a pinprick of his heat vision to make some minor adjustments to all but one of the Grand Cherokee’s doors. He thanked his lucky stars that the fluorescent pink from the neon lights helped to camouflage the tell-tale red glow that appeared whenever he used his heat rays. Clark then carefully hid his glee behind a stern expression of disapproval.

“I don’t care. We leave now. It’ll take them some time to reach here and I don’t want to wait. It’s boring.”

“That’s why you’re the amateur and I’m the professional,” Bruce retorted sarcastically, “If you don’t want to wait, just go and leave me alone.”

“You know I can’t do that, Mr Alfred will...and I promised him!” complained Clark, “That’s it! You leave me no choice.”

Clark made a threatening move. Bruce recoiled into a fighting stance, arms raised to repel an attack when Clark paused suddenly as if the thought had just crossed his mind, “Hey, how about a bet?”

“Huh? Whatever for?” Bruce stared at Clark in confusion, unsure whether to let his guard down.

“Makes it easier for me having to wait for you, and not me having to fight you. Frankly, all this struggle just to fetch you home is getting a little worn around the edges,” groused Clark as he leaned against the brick wall and crossed his long sculpted legs.

Bruce stared suspiciously at Clark, straining to detect any trace of trickery in his face. He then rubbed his jaws tiredly and said, “No. You’ll cheat.”

“Hey, how can you say that! I’m Superman. I don’t cheat,” Clark protested, “I can’t cheat anyway if all you have to do is guess who will alight first from that Cherokee. See, it’s all down to luck.”

Bruce remained unconvinced, mistrust written all over his face.

“Oh, come on,” continued Clark, "I’ll sweeten the deal for you. If you win, I’ll be at your beck and call for an entire day. How about that?”

Batman’s ears perked up at those words – _beck and call for an entire day_. That sounded terribly promising and very irresistible. He could even get back at Clark for that smacking incident. Bruce’s sensual mouth twitched upwards as ideas on how to humiliate Clark flooded his mind.

Clark chuckled silently at the sight of Bruce getting hooked like a fish caught on a line. Lady Luck must be smiling over him as his impromptu plan was working like a breeze. He hoped She would continue to favour him right to the end.

“But what if I lose?” questioned Bruce with narrowed eyes.

“No worries. If you lose, all you have to do is say two words to me, in Kryptonian.”

“Just two words in Kryptonian? What are they?”

"That, I can’t tell you now. You’ll know what they are only if you lose. I swear there’s nothing derogatory or insulting about them,” promised Clark, “Think about it. What’s two words compared to a day with me as your slave?”

Bruce pursed his lips and weighed his options. The prize, if he won, was too good to pass up on. But what if he lost? Well, it was no skin off his nose. Bruce had recently begun studying the Kryptonian language, and though he was not an expert yet, he was quite confident that he had most of the basics down. Worse comes to worst, if the two words were not to his liking, he could always mumble his way through.

Bruce finally gave a curt nod of agreement and Clark grinned wildly, lighting up like a burst of sunshine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat at the sight and he suddenly itched to run his fingers over Clark’s defined jawline and feel the smoothness of his skin. Thankfully, Clark’s impatient voice distracted him instead.

“Me first, me first. My bet’s on the male driver.” Clark spoke so very quickly and so very eagerly that Bruce became extremely wary, sensing something fishy. His naturally mistrustful instinct prompted him to jump the gun.

“Change your bet. I’m placing mine on the male.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’ve already chosen him.” objected Clark vehemently.

“Change or bet’s off.”

“I don’t want, don’t want, don..” pouted Clark like a petulant child.

“...5. 4. 3. 2..”

“Alright, alright. Pft!” Clark finally caved in, his shoulders slumped and his face crestfallen. After a moment’s hesitation, he said without much enthusiasm, “The brunette besides the driver.”

Bruce smiled smugly in self-satisfaction, reassured that he had gotten the better of Clark and whatever scheme he had come up with. He knew that Clark could never outwit him. After all, Batman was an old hand at subterfuge and guile, whilst Superman had never needed to employ such skills, not when he had his superpowers to rely on.

The Grand Cherokee finally cruised to a halt next to a flamed Fiat Topolino. The vroom of the engine died and shrieks of drunken laughter erupted from within. Both Bruce’s and Clark’s heartbeat quickened in excitement as they waited with bated breath for the conclusion of the bet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did Clark do to the Grand Cherokee?
> 
> At first, I thought of having Clark melt the locks on the doors, but then, the rest of the passengers would not be able to exit the car, and Bruce would definitely know Clark had cheated. Then I read online that if a car door was slightly bent or warped that would affect the ease of opening it, so that was what Clark did with his heat vision. Of course, as a representative of justice, he fixed the damaged doors after the bet.


	2. The Bat Lost a Bet Part (b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in the end.

At long last, the first car door finally opened and out stepped the brunette, ruffling her long straight hair. Bruce froze in disbelief and his intellect simply hangup like a malfunctioned processor. As he stared blankly at the other passengers alighting much later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“You’ve lost, ” said Clark with an over-the-moon smile and a triumphant glint in his steely blue eyes.

“But...I...that’s...” Bruce spoke incoherently, looking at Clark in a daze. Clark was so tickled by the rare sight of a dumbfounded Batman, he had to bite his inner cheeks to keep his mirth in check.

“I hope you’re not a sore loser,” teased Clark.

Bruce was tempted to fling his batarangs at Clark, but knew it was a waste of arsenal _._ If only he had the Kryptonite ring which, unfortunately, was currently with Wayne Enterprises for a highly confidential research. So all Bruce could do was to fix his furious eyes on Clark, and Clark simply smiled back at him, quite immune to his death stare. They continued to eye each other until Clark finally asked.

 “So can we get on with the prize-giving then?”

Bruce’s anger deflated immediately and he bit his bottom lip in dismay, unaware of its enticing effect on Clark. Clark forced himself to look away before he did anything rash. _Patience_ , Clark told himself. Soon he could taste those lips to his heart’s content.

“,..re they?” muttered Bruce.

“Hmm?”  

“The two damn Kryptonian words. What are they!”

“ _Dhaikh kh ahp.”_

“ _Dha.. kh ahp?” _Bruce spoke slowly while his brain scanned feverishly through his store of Kryptonian, trying to figure them out. The second word ‘ _kh ahp’_ he had recognised immediately as _me_ or _I_. But the first word eluded him. Bruce knew that he had learnt it before, but somehow, his brain had deemed it unimportant and chucked it to some disused corner of his mind.

“ _Dhaikh kh ahp,” _corrected Clark as he moved closer to Bruce.

Lost in his thoughts, Bruce tapped his foot while snapping his fingers impatiently. He was so close, the meaning was just right on the tip of his tongue. In vexation, Bruce spoke out loud, pronouncing the words perfectly, “ _Dhaikh kh ahp.”_

Clark was on him in an instant. He pulled a surprised Bruce into his embrace and pressed his lips against Bruce’s startled ones, finally tasting their soft warmness. Bruce jerked his head away immediately, but Clark was even faster. He gripped the nape of Bruce’s neck, tilted Bruce’s head to better kiss him, and Bruce reacted violently. He punched Clark fiercely, each blow hard enough to break bones, but they were like feathery strokes to Clark. In annoyance, Clark tightened his hold on Bruce, whirled around and slammed him against the brick wall, knocking the wind out of him. Bruce gasped in shock and Clark took the opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, eager to explore every inch of it.

“..mmmph!” Bruce tried to bite Clark, but Clark held his jaw tightly while he entwined their tongues together, savouring the sweet masculinity of this exasperating yet alluring man he had fallen for. Clark’s every nibble, flick and lick sent jolts of electrical impulses through Bruce’s every nerve, triggering an overload of emotions – fear, pleasure, want – and Bruce panicked. The entire situation was spiralling out of his control and he had no idea what to do. He had five different contingencies to deal with Superman turning rogue but he had none to deal with a kissing Superman. To Bruce, that would never happen, not with the get-out-of-my-way treatment Batman dished out to Superman on a regular basis.

In a burst of frantic desperation, Bruce managed to squeeze both his hands between their mouths, breaking the kiss. A disgruntled Clark, unhappy to have his kiss interrupted, retaliated in a blur of high speed motion. In one swift movement, he stripped off Batman’s gauntlets before grabbing both his wrists, pinning them against the wall with one hand. At the same time, his right hand tore off Batman’s utility belt (despite the electric-shock mechanism) and threw it two buildings away. From Clark’s experience, it was always better to be safe than sorry when handling Batman’s equipment.

“Let me go! You fucking bastard, _hijo de puta, bakaya..._ ”” Bruce swore furiously in a number of languages as he struggled to free himself from Clark’s unbreakable grip. Clark’s eyebrows shot up in amazement at Bruce’s in-depth knowledge of vulgarity before he narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“Shut up or I’m kissing you again.”

Bruce cut off in mid-curse. He glared murderously at Clark, but with his flushed cheeks, and blushed and swollen lips, it had the effect of being seductively sexy rather than furiously angry. Mesmerised, Clark gently traced Bruce’s lips with his fingers before caressing his cheeks with the back of his hand.

Bruce stiffened, taken aback by Clark’s tenderness, such a contrast to the steel-like strength that held his wrists above his head. Every touch from Clark set Bruce’s heart aflutter, and he found himself unable to concentrate on anything else but Clark’s intimate body contact. He could feel Clark’s heartbeat drumming distractingly into him, and Clark’s higher body heat seeped through his suit, heightening his skin sensitivity. But it was the intensity in Clark’s eyes that captivated Bruce the most. There was so much passion shining in them that Bruce had a sudden urge to flee before his heart was tempted to reciprocate it.

 “Sup...Clark, Let’s just put a stop to this, please,” Bruce spoke with a slight tremor in his voice, his body fraught with tension. He bit his lips again, this time in nervous agitation when Clark suddenly sighed and leaned his forehead against Bruce’s.

“Will you stop that?”

“...st..top what?” Bruce stumbled over his words at Clark’s even closer proximity.

“Stop biting your lips, Bruce! I’m already very turned on as it is, and you’re just making me harder.”

As if to emphasize his point, Clark suddenly slid his right knee between Bruce’s legs, forcing him to straddle his thigh. Bruce’s breath hitched as his groin pressed down on warm supple muscles, and he could feel Clark’s firm bulge pressing back against him . A flush of heat pooled in Bruce’s lower region, and he fought to maintain his composure by lashing out at Clark.

“How dare you blame me for your own inability to keep your libido in check! Get off me and go hump someone else. You perverted asshole!”

“Oh, but I rather hump you,” Clark replied, his eyes smouldering with lust, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.”

With that, Clark kissed Bruce again with an urgency that spoke louder that words. Bruce tried to squirm away but Clark held his waist tightly, thrusting hard and fast against him. Bruce arched his back as shots of buzzy electrifying pleasure zipped up his spine and exploded like fireworks in his brain. He wrenched his head from the kiss, panting heavily.

“Clark, no...aaah!” 

Clark’s long nimble fingers had abandoned Bruce’s waist and headed south to grope Bruce through his suit, squeezing and massaging his growing erection. Bruce choked back a cry while his hips involuntarily jerked against the source of such heady sensation. Clark smirked as he felt Bruce responding excitedly to his stimulation, and he stepped up his efforts, determined to make Bruce lose control.

Clark slipped his right hand into Bruce’s tights and drew out his arousal. He teased the slit, spreading out the clear droplets gathered there as he watched Bruce’s reaction with heavy-lidded eyes. Bruce was still waging a war against his body’s primordial urge for satisfaction. He tossed his head from side to side, pressing his lips into a thin line to prevent his moans from leaking out. Clark decided to help Bruce end the war immediately. His large warm hand suddenly wrapped around Bruce’s shaft, pumping at a tempo quicker than a normal human could. Bruce gasped out a scream (which Clark muffled with another kiss) as his entire world crumbled into a whitewash of ecstatic agony. All his rational thoughts and sensibility were torn to shreds, and he was drowning in an overwhelming urge for more friction and greater gratification.

“Clark, clark, pl..please!” begged Bruce, thrusting wantonly into the enveloping warmth while his own thigh rubbed deliciously against Clark’s hard-on. Clark growled. He wanted so much to take Bruce there and then, to feel himself sheathed in Bruce’s heat until he came, but Clark kept his hunger on a very short and tight leash. He was not looking for a one-nighter. He could easily have taken Bruce at anytime if that was his aim. No, Clark wanted more. He wanted everything of Bruce – his mind, his body, his soul – and it did not matter which persona of Bruce was real or fake or a headache to deal with. They were all parts of a quirky personality that Clark had grown to love ever since they first met that winter eons ago.

Clark took a deep ragged breath to steady himself and fortify his flagging willpower. He released Bruce’s wrists to still Bruce’s misbehaving thigh, and Bruce immediately wrapped his arms around Clark’s neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss. His tongue flickered over Clark’s gums, teeth and palate before he bit and suck with abandon at Clark’s lips. Clark hardened even more under Bruce’s ministrations, and his very short and tight leash was pushed to breaking point. With a loud desperate groan, Clark renewed his assault on Bruce, delivering rough twisting strokes from the base to the tip of Bruce’s shaft, giving no quarter.

Broken sobs and whimpers gushed out of Bruce, and he clung tightly to Clark, lost in the thrilling heated intensity of being so close to the edge. Bruce trembling fingers flexed and clenched fitfully in Clark’s jet-black hair as he quickened his thrusts. his balls tightening and his lower muscles clenched in rising anticipation of the climax.

With a long shuddering cry, Bruce came hard in Clark’s hand, his body tensed and arched. Spurts of milky-white stained both their suits while waves of gratifying exhilaration swept Bruce off his feet. His knees buckled and he would have fallen if Clark had not caught him in time. As the intense orgasmic moment subsided, a languidly sated Bruce snuggled up against Clark like a contented kitten, nuzzling his neck and sniffing in Clark’s comforting blend of sunshine, musk and vanilla.

Clark stood still, afraid to break the magical spell of the moment, his aching arousal forgotten. Of all the scenarios he had ever played out in his head, this went totally off the charts. Clark smiled gently as he carefully wrapped his arms around a pliant Bruce, breathing deep his familiar scent of iron and lemony spice. He closed his eyes and listened to the deceleration of Bruce’s heartbeat, wishing wistfully that they could stay like this forever. But knowing Bruce, there would be hell to pay come tomorrow.

“Why?” Bruce slurred drowsily, his eyes almost closed.

“ _Zhao kh ahp rrup_,” Clark whispered as sleep finally drew the blanket of darkness over Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kryptonian Meaning:  
> (1) Dhaikh khahp - Kiss Me  
> (2) Zhao khahp rrup - I love you  
> (Very rough translation and inaccurate sentence structure. Credits given to http://kryptonian.info/doyle/dictionary.html.)
> 
> Swear words Meaning:  
> (1) hijo de puta - Spanish for motherfucker  
> (2) bakayaroo - Japanese for jackass / stupid / asshole
> 
> Title of next chapter - The Bat Takes Revenge


	3. The Bat Takes Revenge Part (a)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot as explained in the title.  
> (Sorry for the delay. Had a hard time writing Bruce. Lost track of how many versions of him I’ve written.)
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> (1) Lots of make-up stuff about Bruce’s early life and Superman’s physiology  
> (2) Creation of two new characters that do not exist in Batman/Superman movies or comics  
> (3) Lots of make-up stuff about Science that may not be plausible  
> (4) Plot-intensive and not X-rated in this chapter  
> (5) Plot continues with Bruce not remembering Clark's declaration of love at the end of Chapter 2. He will be reminded of Clark's love confession in the next chapter.  
> (6) Please read notes for explanations that I couldn't fit into the story.

Batman faltered in mid-punch, distracted by his mind’s replay of Clark’s kiss in HD clarity. His opponent, a balding drug-pusher, sneered in triumph and jabbed his switchblade at Batman’s throat with all his might. Batman scowled angrily as he flung himself two steps back and twisted to the side, dodging the attack. He then grasped the man’s outstretched arm with one hand, and with a vicious twist, he broke the man’s wrist before swinging him violently against the alley wall. The drug-pusher howled in agony and Batman, frustrated with his unruly thoughts, unwittingly kicked him hard in the groin when he was actually aiming for his knee. The drug-pusher spasmed at the excruciating pain and blacked out, hitting his head hard on the concrete ground.

Batman winced guiltily as he turned to deal with the drug’s pusher’s accomplice, a young man with freckles and blue eyes that reminded him of Clark. But the young man, his face white with fear, had already knelt down with both arms raised in the universal gesture for surrender. Batman stalked to him, intending to tie him up, when Clark popped into his consciousness again – this time replaying the feel of Clark’s quick agile fingers and his own enthusiastic response to them. Batman stumbled and blushed furiously. The young accomplice gulped and widened his eyes as he suddenly found Batman very attractive with that flustered look and all that leather and tight body-hugging suit. Before he could appreciate the sight a little more, Batman was gone and wailing sirens could be heard approaching from the distance.

“Wow, that was one hot-looking babe,” the young man muttered aloud as he scanned the vicinity, hoping for another peek at Batman.

A batarang suddenly flew out of the darkness and scythed off a huge swath of the young man’s black hair before it reached the end of its elliptical path and whirled back towards its owner. The young accomplice screamed and collapsed to the ground, clutching his partially-shaven head in terror just as the police arrived on the scene.

“I heard that!” Bruce grumbled with an offended huff from his shadowed hiding place on the rooftop. He deftly caught the returning batarang and stowed it away in his utility belt before burying his face in his hands, turning even redder in utter embarrassment.

Damn it! He had gone and done it again. He had let his thoughts get the better of him, and Batman had ended up acting weird and strangely out-of-character. All this would not have happened if he had not taken on that stupid bet of Clark’s. In one night and with one deed, Clark had completely derailed him and Bruce could not seem to get his life back on track. His memory was stuck in a loop, replaying details that he would rather not remember, and he simply could not concentrate. Even his playboy persona had been affected and he had nearly punched his bimbotic date when she tried to grope him at the Children’s Charity Ball four nights ago. It usually never bothered him much if his dates were feeling him up as that was part of the job scope that came with his cover identity. But after that ridiculous bet, any touchy-feely from anyone simply set him on edge, and Bruce could barely keep his emotions in check. Thankfully, Alfred was always there to pull him back from the brink, just like he was there when Bruce had gone off the deep end the day after the bet.

Bruce had woken up furiously mad and itching to do some violent stuff to Clark. He had stormed to his garage, grabbed his Koenigsegg CCR, and zoomed at the top speed of 242 mph towards Metropolis, executing a series of hair-raising feats in order to get through the traffic without easing off the accelerator. Whatever little shreds of rationality left in him had screamed at him to stop before he did any irreversible damage, but Bruce was too far gone to think straight. All he wanted was to make Clark pay dearly for the indignity he had made him suffer, and he did not care if he had to make a scene just to get his hands on Clark.

Fortunately, Alfred’s sarcastic rebuke over the Batcomm finally cut through Bruce’s blinding rage, and he had screeched to a halt at the outskirts of Metropolis before U-turning back with three police cars struggling valiantly to keep up with him. He had eventually lost them within Gotham’s maze-like streets before abandoning his $2.1 million car near one of Batman’s bolt-holes at the outer perimeter of Robinson Park. (Alfred had already reported the car as stolen.)

As Bruce made his way back to the Diamond District through a network of tunnels hidden beneath the park, he knew that Alfred was right. The way he had acted was totally un-Bruce-like and definitely uncalled for. It was too bloody emotional and it had affected his judgement so badly that he had even forgotten to take some kryptonite with him when he went after Clark. Worst, because of his momentarily insanity that morning,, Bruce was now traversing through the tunnels dressed in a pair of silk pyjamas and fluffy bedroom slippers, and with only a clip-on book light to guide his way.

How utterly wretchedly pathetic! And it was all because of Clark.

Why was he so upset just because Clark had forced him to climax on a rooftop? It was not as if he hadn’t had sex before. He had done far wilder stuff when he had trotted across half the globe to train his body and mind, and some were with strangers whose names he had not even bothered to ask. (How very lost and young he was then.)

So why was he reacting so drastically to Clark?

_That’s because you trusted him. You trusted him but he turned out to be just another asshole who can’t see past your body or your money._

A strong wave of hurt suddenly washed over Bruce and he leaned against a wall for support, unable to breath through the lump in his throat. He knew he should have trusted his instincts and kept Clark far far away. Nothing good had ever come out from a close encounter with another human that was not part of his trusted inner circle (which had only 5 members, and two of them were deceased). Every single one of those assholes always had an ulterior motive beneath their kind and friendly facade and it turned out that Clark was no different after all. How stupid of him to believe that Clark might be that exceptional one that would turn out otherwise.

That was why Bruce had always kept everyone else at arm’s length until Clark had barged into his life like a meteorite – brilliantly hard to ignore, and disastrously earth-shattering.

Bruce hated him at first sight. He hated how Clark could be Superman and still be able to laugh and smile and be so open with his emotions. His very existence mocked at him, making Bruce feel like a fool to try and be emotional-free just because he was Batman. But what Bruce truly hated most was how indefatigable Clark was. No matter how harshly Bruce had treated him or how much negativity he had heaped on him, somehow, Clark was always able to neutralise their severe effects with his own brand of warmth and positivity. He just refused to be driven away and instead, he had kept coming back again and again like an energizer bunny until Bruce had finally caved in out of exhaustion. It was just so much easier to tolerate his annoying presence than act like a mean old grouch to an unfazed Clark. And though he refused to admit it even to himself, Bruce had sort of gotten used to having Clark around. He was useful at times, and he knew how to respect Bruce’s need for zero small talk and a big personal space. Even Alfred had allowed him into his inner sanctum – his personal kitchen at the Wayne Manor, and Bruce was secretly glad that Alfred had the extra company to brighten up his days once in awhile.

Then that silly bet had happened, and suddenly, Clark was gone. It had been two weeks and Bruce had not seen nor heard from him. He should be happy that that untrustworthy Clark was finally out of his life, but he was not. Instead, Bruce felt like an amputee with phantom limb pain. His body kept sending alarm signals to his brain that something was wrong when his life had actually returned back to normal pre-Clark days.

Bruce sighed wearily as he stared at the muted Gotham skyline disappearing in a rising fog. All of a sudden, noises from the fire escape stairs alerted him to the presence of intruders, and Bruce gasped in dismay at losing his focus while still on the job. He took off in a burst of speed when his peripheral vision caught a flash of red and blue, and he skidded to a halt. His heart leapt to his throat before plummeting down in bitter disappointment when he realised it was just a flag fluttering in a sudden breeze, and not the person he was hoping to see.

Bruce cursed loudly as he continued his sprint, leaping with power and grace to the next building just as shouts from behind told him that the police had breached the rooftop. Without pausing, he shot his grapple gun at one of the overhanging spotlights on a billboard to his left, swung out over empty air and abseiled down at reckless speed while his cape flared out dramatically, creating drag. Bruce landed lightly next to his Tumbler, shrouded by the thickening fog. He then disengaged the line, boarded the vehicle and set the autopilot for home. As the Tumbler zipped its way through the streets of Gotham, Bruce angrily told himself, “I am absolutely not hoping to seeing that bloody blue buffoon! I’m not. I was just checking for his appearance so that I can take my revenge. I’m definitely not missing him. I’m not!”

But no matter what he said, Bruce could not drown out the mocking laughter that echoed within him. _Liar. You don’t even have a revenge planned yet._

 

 ________________________

 

Clark could not help but eavesdropped on Bruce’s heartbeat for the seventeenth time today, letting the familiar rhythm soothe away an intense desire to zoom straight to Gotham to see him. He missed Bruce terribly and his vivid memory of that night’s bet had not helped either in easing the constant ache within him. But no matter how much he wanted to, Clark could not go and see Bruce just yet. That silly bet of his had broken every rule in Bruce’s rulebook regarding acceptable interaction between the two of them, and Clark feared the consequences of his rash act. So rather than play a game of dodge with Bruce in Gotham, Clark had chosen to keep still in Metropolis and let him come to him instead. He needed to set things right again with Bruce and he had a revised Plan B to do just that. But the success of his plan was dependent on getting Bruce to stay put long enough for Clark to say his piece. That was why Clark had chosen to face Bruce on his own home ground instead. Bruce was not as familiar with the territory in Metropolis, and there were lesser shadows, tunnels, nooks and crannies over here for him to use to his advantage.

With a dismal sigh, Clark slouched further in his chair at the Daily Planet and stared glumly in the direction where Gotham lay. Bruce had gone and done it again. Just when Clark thought he had him figured out, Bruce had proven how misguided he was by acting in a totally unexpected manner. Two weeks! A nerve-wrecking and nail-biting two weeks, and Bruce had yet to turn up to exact his revenge. That was super slow for a man who would rather forego eat and sleep just to get his next week’s tasks completed by today. Clark had no idea what was taking him so long, but the current stalemate between the two of them was driving him nuts, and he wished once again that he had not gone so overboard that night.

It was supposed to be just a cheeky bet so that Clark could ruffle Bruce’s feathers a little, and a quick taste of those sensual lips was just an added bonus to satisfy his curiosity. Bruce simply had no idea how eye-drawing his lips were when framed by that dark cowl of his, and all that midnight black had only enhanced their lush-pinkness even more. It had not helped either that Bruce’s lips were often more expressive than the owner himself, and Clark loved how he could read Bruce from the degree and duration of the twitch or downward curl or outright smirk. But what Bruce was most unaware of was how smooch-able he looked when he bit his lips. The bite-and-slide motion of Bruce’s teeth as they nibbled at his bottom lip, often sent a fuzzy tingle down Clark’s spine, and it was a miracle that he had managed to resist kissing Bruce for two years, six months and thirteen days.

Then he had gone and initiated that stupid bet of his.

He had not expected the taste of Bruce’s lips to be that potent! His original intention was to tease Bruce with a chaste kiss and then let go. But the surprising warmth, the soft yet firm texture, the muffled gasp, and Clark’s self-control was left hanging by a thread. He could not get enough of Bruce, and he had ended up compromising him, and throughout it all, Clark had never once asked for Bruce’s consent.

 _Damn it! It was not supposed to turn out like this!_ Clark clenched his fists as he took deep slow breaths until the urge to bash himself up had passed. His long-term plans to woo Bruce had much more flair and finesse, and it definitely did not include groping Bruce like a sex-crazed pervert before confessing his love on a wet and filthy rooftop.

For two and a half years, Clark with saintly patience and painstaking effort, had finally made Plan A – embed himself in Bruce’s life – a success. He had Alfred’s stamp of approval and Bruce had finally stopped carrying that damn kryptonite with him (Clark knew from the lack of a certain lead-lined pocket on Batman’s utility belt). Best of all, Bruce’s animosity had dropped from code red: leave-now-or-die-terribly to code pink-blue: deny-all-romantic-attraction-because-Batman-don’t-do-emotions. Clark was finally at the stage when he could finally set his Plan B in motion, but that foolish bet of his had blown everything to smithereens.

No wonder they say curiosity killed the cat. In his case, his curiosity about Bruce’s lips had killed two and a half year’s worth of effort to woo him, and Clark wished he could travel back in time and undo his mistake.

“Is this some kind of April’s Fool joke? If so, you’re late by about four months,” a brisk but annoyed voice suddenly cut through Clark’s thoughts and he blinked owlishly, momentarily disoriented before realising that it was Lois who was speaking to him.

Lois stood next to Clark’s cluttered desk with her hands on her hips and a frown on her pretty face. With a long-suffering sigh, she playfully hit Clark’s head with a rolled up printout before dropping it on his desk.

“Fantastic work, Clark,” Lois remarked drily, “Didn’t know that our Daily Planet’s star journalist could be so bad at names.”

Clark looked at Lois in confusion as he straightened up in his chair before picking up the dropped printout. He gently unrolled the stapled pages and realised it was his latest article about the presidency which would be printed on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. He quickly scanned through the words pencilled in red before groaning aloud in utter misery. Of all the mistakes he had ever made as a journalist, this was definitely his worst and most embarrassing ever. He had no idea how he managed to type all the _Obama_ in the article as _OhBruce_.

“Shucks! I’m so sorry, Lois. I must have...I’ll cha...”

“Whoever this Bruce is,” Lois suddenly interrupted and winked at him, “I hope he’s worth it. For this is the third article you’ve replaced someone’s else name with his.”

She then dropped two more printouts on his desk before putting her arm around Clark’s shoulders and whispered conspiratorially, “Please don’t forget to introduce Bruce to me. I can’t wait to see what sort of man could have gotten you so besotted.”

With that, Lois smirked and walked away, eyes sparkling with excitement at the new development in her best friend’s life. As for Clark, he had turned an interesting shade of red that would have matched well with Superman’s suit before turning blue in despair. Now, he not only had Bruce to deal with, he also had to contend with Lois who would bug him to no end until she got that introduction.

 

________________________

 

“This is what you’re get in the end,” spoke Jun Mitchell as he picked up a test-tube from one of the racks arranged neatly on a lab bench. He handed it over to Bruce who then held up the test tube and peered closely at the substance within it. Resembling fine sugar crystals, the substance was emitting a weak luminescent glow which reminded Bruce of a dying firefly.

“How much was the gamma ray reduction?” Bruce asked as he returned the test tube to its rack and looked at the shorter man whose Eurasian features were the product of his Japanese-American lineage.

“35%. That’s the maximum possible reduction for the synthetic kryptonite to still have an effect on Superman,” Jun replied as he flipped open a laptop to show the data analysis to him. Bruce leaned against the lab bench and scrolled through the reports while Jun moved away to check on the growth of an altered virus engineered to kill Poison Ivy’s carnivorous plants. Jun knew that Bruce preferred to be left alone when he was digesting information. Moreover, the experimental design needed for the kryptonite synthetization came from Bruce himself, and no further explanation was needed. Bruce’s expertise in the sciences surpassed even Jun who had already won two Nobel prizes and made several breakthroughs in various fields. All this, Jun owed it to Bruce who had stopped him from ruining his life because of his thirst for revenge. That was why Jun had stuck with Bruce all these years and sometimes, he felt a twinge of regret for Bruce who could have been making great strides in the scientific world if he had not become Batman.

“Superman won’t be able to detect it then,” mused Bruce as he drummed his fingers on the lab bench, and looked around at his personal research facility hidden in the basement of Wayne Foundation building. Only three other persons, besides him, knew the existence of this place. One of them was Alfred who oversaw its creation in the last year before Bruce returned from Bhutan. The second was Jun, and the third was seated before a bank of computers in the outer room which served as a command centre, as well as, a personal repair shop.

“No, he won’t,” Jun replied, “The reduced radiation levels will blend in with earth’s terrestrial radiation, and it will just be like background noise to Superman. He won’t be able to single it out, but he will still suffer from its effects as the synthetic kryptonite can still weaken him and cause him pain, but prolonged exposure will not result in death.”

Bruce’s eyes lit up at Jun’s words, and he smiled like a shark that had smelled blood in the waters. Jun suddenly felt very sorry for Superman and he wondered what he had done to incur Bruce’s wrath.

But there’s a problem,” Jun continued and tried not to laugh at the apparent disappointment showing on Bruce’s face. He headed towards the glass door leading to the outer room, beckoning to Bruce to follow him.

“Scott will fill you in.”

The two of them left the lab which took up half of the space in the facility and approached Scott Lowrey, a former black-hat hacker who was given a second chance to turn over a new leaf. As usual, Scott tried to greet Bruce with a friendly hug, but his hands were rudely swatted away before Bruce took a seat in a nearby chair and frowned up at him (Scott was just as tall as Bruce). Scott merely grinned and with lightning-quick reflexes, he managed to ruffle Bruce’s hair a little, which annoyed him even further and he growled out a warning.

“Alright, alright. I’ll begin right this minute,” Scott spoke with a distinct Scottish accent not yet wiped out by his years spent in America. He then sat down and typed in a few commands on a keyboard. A freeze-frame of Superman smiling brightly at a crowd appeared on one of the screens on the video wall before them. Bruce sucked in his breath, surprised at the unexpected image. It had only been two weeks and three days, but it felt like years since Bruce last saw Clark, and he drank in the sight of him like a starving man before he suddenly stiffened and wrenched his eyes away. Scott caught the brief look of bitter sadness that flitted across Bruce’s face before his impassive mask wiped all emotions away, and Scott suddenly disliked Superman even more for the hurt he had caused Bruce. If not for the obvious infatuation Bruce had for him, Scott would never have agreed to go along with Alfred’s plan. Bruce’s life was already crazy enough without having another superhero to add on to his troubles.

Scott pressed a button and the muted video started playing. Superman was shaking hands with the Metropolis’ mayor at an award ceremony when all of a sudden, a young screaming woman pounced on him, showering kisses and leaving red lipstick stains on a startled Superman’s face. Bruce glared heatedly at the woman first before he glowered at Clark when Scott paused the video. It froze exactly at the point when the woman’s lips were pressed against Superman’s cheek.

“You’ve better have a good reason for this or I’m bankrupting your company,” Bruce spoke coldly, eyeing Scott with great displeasure.

Jun hid his smile behind his hand while Scott laughed heartily, immune to Bruce’s style of showing his annoyance. He slapped Bruce on his back and said, “Patience, my boy.”

With that, Scott turned back to the computers while Bruce huffed and crossed his arms in disapproval. The freeze-frame of Superman being kissed was swiped out and a grainy black and white video of poorer quality started playing. The footage came from a security camera overlooking a deserted parking lot. Clark was getting out of his Ford sedan when an armed carjacker jumped him and bounced right off him like a ping-pong ball. The carjacker fell hard against a nearby Nissan Altima, cracked his head against the windscreen before slumping to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Bruce leaned forward, serious and interested. He told Scott to re-play the videos and Scott was not surprised that Bruce might have already caught on to what he had discovered. That was how sharp Bruce’s intellect was and Scott’s deep respect for him stemmed from the fact that he had not yet been able to hack into the computers at the Batcave. The very computers which he had designed but Bruce had modified to such an extent that its security measures were a challenge even to an expert like him. Initially, it was just a job Bruce had assigned him – to play the devil’s advocate against the strength of the Batcave’s systems – but over the years, it had become a game between the two of them and Scott had yet to win against Bruce.

When the re-play ended, Bruce turned to Scott with a raised eyebrow and Scott began to explain.

“I was working on your MetaProject when I stumbled across the video of Clark by chance. That piqued my curiosity and I began hunting for other similar videos, and my goodness! You’ll be amazed at how many men and women had tried to jump or pounce or smooch Superman. The interesting part is, none of them had bounced off him like the carjacker did.”

Scott played a few more videos which were similar to the first one, and Bruce itched to pry every single pair of dirty hands or lips away from Clark. He was definitely going to give Clark an earful for debasing himself in such a manner, and then he would make sure that the whole world knew Superman belonged to h...

Bruce froze at what he had just thought before he shook his head angrily, muttering furiously under his breath. Both Jun and Scott sighed inwardly and pretended not to notice the lapse in Bruce’s attention. This was the third time Bruce had become distracted in the midst of their weekly meetups. No wonder Alfred had overridden Bruce’s authority and approached them without his knowledge. In his current state, it was too risky for Bruce to continue being Batman, not unless he resolved his issues with Clark first. Both Jun and Scott had no idea what had happened between the two of them, but knowing Bruce, part of the problem must be Bruce’s adamant refusal to admit his own feelings when it was so obvious that he was deeply in love with Clark. So it was up to the three of them to play matchmakers and help the two dodos out.

“It’s the higher levels of epinephrine and norepinephrine released by the body when faced with danger,” Jun spoke a tad louder than his usual volume, trying to get Bruce back on track while Scott switched to another set of videos that focused on Superman in combat.

“Somehow Superman’s alien biology is able to convert these chemicals into a form of energy, strengthening his protective aura to such a degree that it can repel almost anything. Look at how far the bullets had ricocheted from him.”

Jun pointed at the video playing on the screen while he sneaked a quick peek at Bruce. He was filled with a sense of relief to find Bruce back to his normal self, his keen blue eyes analysing the trajectory and the distance the bullets had ricocheted.

“And this will have an impact on the synthetic kryptonite?” Bruce asked thoughtfully.

Jun nodded his head and pulled out some more data on another screen.

“At its current 35% reduction, the synthetic kryptonite is too weak to penetrate the strengthened aura if you try to use it when Superman’s in attack mode. It just won’t work, not unless you increase the gamma radiation and that will have defeated the purpose of this project. However, if you..”

Jun’s voice trailed off and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat while Bruce looked quizzically at him.

“Bruce, I must warn you that what I’m saying next is pure conjecture. They are unproven theories and I have no empirical evidence to prove their validity. Worst, I may be wrong so please take what I say with a pinch of salt.”

Bruce nodded his head and gestured impatiently at Jun to get on with it. He just wanted their meetup to end a.s.a.p. so that he could get away from all these visual media of Clark. It was too much of a sensory overload and Bruce needed a timeout to get his emotions under control again before he had to face the horde of strutting peacocks and sleazy scumbags at another glitzy fundraiser tonight.

“Get Superman sexually aroused then use the synthetic kryptonite. That’s probably the best way,” Jun spoke placidly while Bruce widened his eyes at how the whole conversation had suddenly gone from PG to X-rated, and Scott almost choked on his saliva.

“It sort of makes sense cause the more Superman desires a sexual encounter, the more testosterone and estrogen is produced, and lesser epinephrine and norepinephrine will be present in the body. Without these chemicals, Superman’s protective aura should remain ’thin’ enough for the synthetic kryptonite to take effect.”

Bruce suddenly looked disturbed and Scott stared suspiciously at him. Was his eyes playing tricks or did Bruce looked a little flushed? An interesting thought began to take shape in Scott’s mind, and he glanced over at Jun to see if he had noticed anything. Unfortunately, the shorter man was too pre-occupied right now and Scott was not surprised. Jun had the most difficult part of their plan to carry out – manipulate Bruce into seeing Clark without getting caught by him. But judging from Bruce’s reaction, Scott wanted to tell Jun not to worry as he might have unintentionally hit the jackpot with his half-baked theory about kryptonite and sexual encounters.

“Of course we’ll never know if that’s possible, not unless we have the following variables – (1) a willing Superman, (2) a Subject A that Superman wanted to have sex with, and (3) the synthetic kryptonite. (3) we have, but (1) and (2) are a bit hard to get our hands on so instead of wasting time on the improbable, I propose we write off the current batch of synthetic kryptonite and restart again. Maybe instead of curium, we can use...”

“But you’ll never know until you try,” the words tumbled out of Bruce’s mouth before he realised what he had said, and the three of them blinked in surprise.

“And how are you going to do that?” asked Scott curiously while Jun stared at Bruce in disbelief. He had not expected Bruce to be persuaded so easily. He thought he had to cook up some more half-truths to convince him. Bruce must really be very badly affected by the whole affair, and Jun suddenly resented Clark for how undone Bruce had become.

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. He had no idea how to answer Scott’s question without revealing what had happened during the bet. He only knew that Jun’s theory sounded plausible as he had punched Clark when he was forced to kiss him, and Bruce had not broken a single finger despite his strong desire to inflict some bodily harm on Clark. Maybe the synthetic kryptonite might work after all, and he could finally get back at Clark without having to worry about killing him by mistake. That was why Bruce had avoided using the kryptonite ring. He was afraid of losing control because of his unstable emotions, especially when in the presence of Clark.

As for finding a Subject A...

Bruce decided not to dwell on that subject for now. Instead, he gave Jun and Scott a set of instructions each and about an hour later, he exited the facility via a private elevator which connected directly to his penthouse suite on the highest floor of the building. Alfred was already waiting by the lift with a steaming cup of black coffee held on a gleaming silver tray.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce spoke gratefully as he took the cup and sank into the leather Chesterfield placed next to the full length windows of his study. Alfred nodded his head in acknowledgement and quietly left the room to prepare a second cup which Bruce would definitely need to survive the long night ahead.

Bruce slowly sipped his coffee as he soaked in the beauty of Gotham’s evening skyline, while his left hand played absent-mindedly with a small black canister, turning it around and around in his hand. Made from a lead (Pb) free shielding, the canister resembled a pepper spray, and contained within it was 50ml of synthetic kryptonite. Just a few squirts with this and Clark would be reduced into a pain-wrecked weakling, and Bruce could do whatever he wanted with him. Best of all, he would have the element of surprise and Clark would not know what had hit him until it was too late. Bruce could not help but smirk in satisfaction at that thought. But first he needed to find a Subject A to get the job done.

_And that’s you, Bruce!_

Bruce choked on his coffee and he coughed loudly. His hand shook and the coffee sloshed out of the cup, trickling down his hand before dripping onto the grey-patterned Holland & Sherry carpet.

“Are you alright, Mr Wayne?” Alfred asked in concern as he quickly placed the second cup of coffee on a mahogany side table before removing the one in Bruce’s hand. He then took out a handkerchief from his waistcoat and gently wiped away the wetness.

Bruce, unable to speak through his coughing fit, looked up at Alfred while nodding  his head in reply. He noticed the dark circles underneath Alfred’s eyes and the tinge of weariness in his posture, and Bruce felt wretched for giving Alfred sleepless nights because of his erratic behaviour these few weeks. He really must get a grip on himself, especially for Alfred’s sake. Having to put up with him being Batman and a playboy and a stubborn-man-who-does-not-bring-much-joy-to-anyone’s life was already bad enough, and Alfred did not deserve to have more worries piled on him just because Bruce had a problem with Clark. Maybe revenge might be the catharsis he needed to straighten himself out, and if that entailed seducing Clark in order to use the synthetic kryptonite, so be it.

“Alfred, can you request for a new invite to this Saturday’s Metropolis Masquerade? I think I threw the card away by mistake,” Bruce asked once he had recovered from his cough.

“There’s no need to, Mr Wayne. I had rescued the invite and several unopened love letters from the wastebasket, and it’s still with me. Such a pity to throw recyclables away on a mere whim, Mr Wayne.”

Bruce winced at Alfred’s chastisement for not being environmentally-friendly. Alfred’s quite big on environmental issues, but Bruce hated the love letters that were the side-effects of his playboy persona, and he would prefer to have them in the wastebasket than in his recycling tray. As for the invite, he had not wanted to see anything Metropolis-like either these few weeks.

“May I presume that you will be going to the masquerade after all, Mr Wayne?”

“That’s right Alfred, I’ll be going and...” Bruce hesitated briefly before continuing, “Can you make sure Mr Kent received an invite too?”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow up in an uncanny resemblance to Bruce’s, and Bruce could not help but smile at how much of Alfred’s mannerism had rubbed off on him.

“Will Mr Kent’s invitation be as a media representative or as a guest?”

“As a guest, Alfred, and...Mr Bruce Wayne’s date.”

Bruce plucked nervously at his jeans as he spoke, his eyes not quite meeting Alfred’s. He had to seduce Clark, right? So what better way than a date at a masquerade? Everyone was supposed to keep their identity hidden until the big reveal at the midnight hour, and part of the fun was to try and guess each one’s identity before that. Bruce had not wanted to go as it was a frivolous event that was neither a fundraiser nor for a charity cause. But now, it seemed to be the perfect venue for his revenge plan.

Alfred’s eyebrow quirked a tad higher, but decided not to make any comment.

“Very well then. I’ll see to the matter, Mr Wayne. Will there be anything else?”

Bruce shook his head, and suddenly he could not sit still. He began pacing up and down, biting his lips in nervous agitation. Alfred looked at him with frustrated fondness, and he sometimes wished that Bruce would stop over-complicating matters. So what if he was hurt and upset with Clark. All he needed to do was just call and yell at Clark, and Alfred was very sure that Clark would come crawling back immediately to beg for his forgiveness. And speaking of Clark, Alfred sighed. That was another person who tend to over-complicate matters too. They were truly a match made in heaven, and he was definitely not going to let a frivolous bet get in their way.

"Mr Wayne,” Alfred called out, and Bruce stopped pacing, surprised that Alfred was still in the room.

“Before I leave, may I suggest that you prepare a suitable outfit for Mr Kent? He can’t quite possibly go in his current suit, and it is quite impossible for him to afford one with the current two-digit figure in his bank account.”

Bruce looked like he had just swallowed a lemon and a porcupine. He was about to speak when Alfred continued.

“May I also suggest that you choose the outfit for him instead of me? You are the one who is inviting him on a date, and that will be a nice personal touch to impress your date. And by the way, Mr Wayne, please try not to address your date by his last name. First names are always better at creating a sense of intimacy when you are dating.”

With that, Alfred turned and left the study. Before he could close the oaken door completely, Alfred heard a loud curse from Bruce.

“It’s not a fucking date, Alfred! It’s a revenge!”

 

  ________________________

 

The moment the elevator doors that led to Bruce’s penthouse suite closed and the number on the display panel started changing, Jun slumped in his chair and clutched his head in despair.

“My god! I lied to Bruce. I lied! How can I do that to him after all he had done for me. He’s never gonna trust me again.”

Scott chuckled affectionately at Jun’s dramatics before he leaned forward, tilted Jun’s head up and kissed him on his lips.

“I don’t think Bruce realised that you have lied to him. If I’m not wrong, I think you may have just hit the jackpot with the stuff you’ve told him.”

“How will you know?” Jun spoke morosely as he looked dejectedly at Scott.

“Will you still be sitting here in one piece if he hadn’t bought that theory of yours?”

Scott was quite right. Bruce was not someone who tolerated any shenanigans, especially from someone he trusted. Then Jun remembered something else he had done to betray Bruce, and he groaned out loud again.

“So what if he didn’t know that I’ve lied. He’ll definitely find out what I’ve done with the synthetic kryptonite and he’ll come after me with all his batarangs and bat bombs and gas pellets and...”

“What exactly did you do, Jun?”

“Alfred said that Clark must not be harmed at all cost so I’ve added a slow-decay agent to the kryptonite. By the time Bruce uses the canister, the kryptonite will have broken down into their original elements, and it’ll have no effect on Clark.”

Scott stared speechlessly at Jun before he erupted into gales of laughter, and Jun kicked him hard in his shins. Just then, Scott’s iPhone X buzzed and he took the phone out from his pocket. It was from Alfred, and as he read the message, a wide grin broke out on his face. He then grabbed Jun and pulled the smaller man onto his lap before he showed the text to him.

_Batzie is going on a date._

“I think Bruce’s going to be too busy to bother with us for awhile. Shall we pack our bags then? I’ve still got my yacht and I know a lovely spot that will put us out of any signal range.”

Jun brightened up at the idea and he patted Scott’s head like he was rewarding a good doggie, and Scott playfully bit his neck. They then started shutting the facility down so that they could escape for a little while, the aftermath of what they had done.

 

To be continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) CLARK’S ORIGINAL PLAN B – Clark planned to sweep Bruce off to either a secluded island or a hidden oasis in a desert, and while they stood on the beach in the glow of the setting sun or under the blanket of stars in the deep stillness of the desert, Clark will confess his love to Bruce. The kiss and all other physical stuff can come later after he had convinced that stubborn man to accept his feelings in a location where it will be difficult for Bruce to make his escape.
> 
> (2) CLARK’S REVISED PLAN B – That will be a secret for now and all will be revealed in the next chapter.
> 
> (3) BRUCE’S SYNTHETIC KRYPTONITE PROJECT – Bruce has lots of issues with carrying the kryptonite ring with him in a lead-lined pocket all the time. He will rather not wake up one day with some incurable disease so he had started the project to create a synthetic kryptonite that will not harm the human body. In addition, he wanted a kryptonite that was easier to hide without using lead if possible as Clark often scanned him with his X-ray vision when they met, making him feel very naked in front of him.
> 
> (4) BRUCE’S METAPROJECT – Bruce has an ulterior motive for starting this project. He was looking for a special someone he met once at the age of fourteen (all will be revealed in a special prequel). But later, when Batman met Superman, Bruce realised he needed up-to-date information about all possible metahumans that may pop up in his radar so that he can prepare himself in advance, just in case he had to face them in battle.
> 
> (5) BRUCE’S CONFIDANTS – Bruce is a very busy man and he will need help with the nitty-gritty of being Batman so I’ve created two confidants to help him. (I don’t read any of the comics so my apologies if I didn’t realise he already had confidants to help him.) Indirectly inspired by Lewis Charteris, The Saint series. 
> 
> (6) JUN MITCHELL – Bruce ran into Jun when he was secretly training in the art of ninjitsu with Kirigi, a martial arts expert, in Kyoto. Jun was a scholarship student at Kyoto University who despite his brilliance was not very successful in life because he was half-gaijin, and the fact that he was also born out of wedlock when his American father had died before his parents could get married. His only kin, his mother, was killed by a group of drunk kids from rich influential families when she visited him in Kyoto, but the kids had managed to get away scot-free because of their background. In his pain and rage, Jun had created a gas that will turn them and a number of judicial and law enforcement personnel into drooling imbeciles when Bruce stopped him in the nick of time. He then helped Jun to find justice before sending him over to Gotham University to complete his studies.
> 
> (7) SCOTT LOWREY – Scott’s a modern-day Robin Hood. He had been hacking into the bank accounts of the British’s rich and famous, and blackmailing them with all the dirt he could find when he made the mistake of hacking into Bruce’s bank accounts in London. Bruce had retaliated with his own malicious malware that had not only wiped out all the data on Scott’s computers, it had also emptied Scott’s bank account, donating his $2.1 million pounds to various charitable organisations. Bruce had then threatened to send Scott’s details to every single police unit in the world unless he met up with him. Scott was shocked to find out that he was defeated by a boy who was 12 years younger than him (Bruce was only 17 then). That piqued his interest and he had accepted Bruce’s offer to clean up his act and work secretly for him through an IT company funded by Bruce. Life was more fun since then and Bruce has become family to an orphan like him.
> 
> Title of next chapter - The Bat Takes Revenge: The Seduction


	4. The Bat Takes Revenge Part (b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter helped to make up for the heaviness of the previous one.  
> I just want to move the story to Metropolis and to have Bruce seducing Clark, and Clark looking good for once at a gala.  
> Along the way there's a catfight over Clark, and they finally cleared up their Amisunderstandings and confessed their feelings.  
> And Yes, they finally made to bed with lots of kisses and wonderful sex.
> 
> Warnings:  
> A change in gala title from Midnight Metropolis Masquerade to just Metropolis Masquerade to match the start of this chapter.

“Stop right there, Batman!”

Bruce stiffened for a second before he realised that the shouted command was too high-pitched and out of breath to have come from someone threatening. He turned around, spotted the voice’s owner and chuckled silently. A cute chubby Superman was huffing and puffing as he chased after a lithe and nimble older boy dressed up as Batman. The older boy looked back at Superman and laughed, confident that he had the upper hand. He sped up but Superman refused to give up, even though he looked like he might collapse at any moment.

Bruce took pity on Superman who clearly was at a disadvantage because of his size. He took two steps to his left and Batman ran right into him with a surprised _oof_. He swiftly caught Batman before he could fall backwards and hurt himself.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you alright?” Bruce knelt down and fussed over Batman, detaining him on the spot.

“Yes yes, I’m ok,” Batman spoke impatiently, eager to be off but too well-mannered to push Bruce aside.

“You’re sure? Where are your parents? Maybe I should bring you to...”

“Caught you!” Superman squealed as he hugged Batman from the back before falling back on his butt, laughing so happily that everyone nearby, including Bruce, could not help but smile at such innocent delight. Batman slumped his shoulders and sighed regretfully before he used a corner of his cape and tenderly wiped away the perspiration on Superman’s face.

“Come on, Timmy. I’ve better get you cleaned up before Mum throws a fit,” said Batman as he pulled Superman up before thanking Bruce for his kind concern. Then, dragging a happy but exhausted Superman behind him, the two boys disappeared into the crowd that was attending one of Metropolis’ grandest party – the Metropolis Masquerade.

As befitting the theme of the gala, every guest was dressed in elaborate costumes and masks that shimmered and sparkled under the soft golden glow of crystal chandeliers and uplighting. There were feathers and leather, velvet and lace, and every possible attention-grabbing material available on the market. Gold and silver, precious gems and diamonds were flaunted with careless ease by the rich and famous as they mingled in the grand hall at the Metropolis Museum of Art.

In contrast, Bruce appeared plain in his dark grey brocade shirt and silk pants, while a slim-cut black buccaneer coat accentuated the V-shape of his well-toned physique. A matching black leather half-mask protected his identity while bringing out the steel blue in his eyes. Bruce’s demeanour was quiet and subdued as he drifted unobtrusively through the crowd, searching for his target. He had come to this event under an alias, and there was no need for the usual theatrics that he employed when in the guise of infamous billionaire Bruce Wayne.

Despite his attentiveness, Bruce was still caught by surprise when a voice, tinged with humour, suddenly spoke up from behind him.

“That’s very tricksy of you.”

Bruce recognised that familiar baritone immediately, and he slammed down on a surge of dark emotions which brought a bitter taste to his throat. Taking a deep breath, Bruce stopped himself from grabbing the canister tucked in his right pocket. _Patience_ , he counselled himself. Clark would definitely get a full blast of it later. But first, he had to get the most headache part of his plan over and done with.

Using the tricks of an actor’s trade, Bruce sank himself into his flirtatious mode, pushing away all unnecessary thoughts, especially the hurt that throbbed within him. He turned around, a sultry smile on his lips and his jaw dropped at the sight of Clark Kent.

For once, Clark was not dressed in one of his crumpled and oversized suits that Bruce hated at first sight. Instead, a dark blue frock coat, embellished with silver threads, fitted perfectly over his impressive frame. Beneath the coat, an ornate black lace shirt teased the eyes with subtle flashes of supple muscles, and Bruce could not keep his eyes away from Clark’s chest as it moved with every inhale and exhale of air. But what made Clark so bewitching was the metal black Filigree half-mask, as delicate and intricate as lace. It added an aura of mystery to Clark while enhancing his defined cheekbones and strong jawline. Bruce’s brain keeled over at the thought that this was the man who had touched him three weeks ago. He cursed himself for his perfectionist attitude that simply would not allow himself to design a slipshod suit for Clark. Instead, he had dressed him up so well that Bruce, despite knowing in advance what Clark was going to wear, was still stunned by how hot-looking Clark was.

Clark, on the other hand, smiled affectionately at a gaping Bruce, his eyes re-tracing every detail he loved about him. He wanted so much to draw Bruce into his embrace, but chose to err on the side of caution. Clark was well-aware that the masquerade would be where Bruce would take his revenge. Although Clark did not mind that Bruce was acting in this way (it was his fault after all), he had still taken the precaution to scan Bruce from outside the museum, looking for lead-lined containers and kryptonite’s unique radiation pattern. There was nothing of that sort, only some new bruises, a stiletto knife, four collapsible batarangs and a canister with some strange substance in it. Clark was puzzled. He could only hope that whatever Bruce had up his sleeve would not impair him too much as he had his own plan to carry out tonight.

Clark was about to speak again when his mouth went dry and he suddenly found Earth’s atmospheric air not suitable for breathing. The gaping Bruce had vanished. In place was a sensual creature stalking towards Clark with a suggestive swing to his hips, drawing his attention to the way the silk clung and then caressed over Bruce’s crotch when he moved. Clark gulped and jerked his eyes away, only to be captured by Bruce’s intense gaze as he peered coyly at Clark through lowered eyelids. He was like a deer caught in the headlights, staring with his mouth agape, totally enthralled by Bruce’s seduction. The surroundings leached away from Clark until all that was left in his consciousness was Bruce and the loud drumming of his own heartbeat.

Clark jumped and shivered when Bruce placed a hand on his chest, leaning in so close that Clark could feel his body heat.

"Were you talking to me? Mr tall, definitely not dark but very handsome.”

Bruce spoke in a low husky tone, his head tilted back and his lips slightly parted. He bit his bottom lip, slowly released it before licking the spot he had bitten. Clark’s temperature shot up while his blood rushed downwards, awakening an intimate part of him. He wanted so much to pounce on Bruce, and only the publicness of their venue stopped him. Instead, he moved his right hand, wanting to pull Bruce in for a good hard kiss, when someone with petite fingers grabbed hold of it and refused to let go.

Clark blinked in confusion at a very well-endowed lady dressed up as the Greek goddess, Aphrodite.

“My darling, so nice to meet you,” the pretty European lowered her handheld mask and kissed the back of Clark’s hand, “I’m Zylie McCarty, and you are...”

Clark stared in shock, thrown off-course by this new development. Being seduced by Bruce had already fried most of his brain cells, but with the inclusion of Zylie, Clark simply could not cope and his cognitive ability grounded to a complete halt.

“Hi, I’m Robert Cape,” Bruce butted in as he yanked Clark’s hand out of Zylie’s grasp, his eyes glittering with anger. He then slid his right arm round Clark’s waist and tucked his hand into the back pocket of Clark’s pants, brazenly declaring that Clark was his.

But Zylie refused to give up so easily. She was a predator that had taken many men before and Clark was to be her prize catch tonight. With a coquettish smile, Zylie ran a hand up Clark’s back and pressed her pair of E-cups against Clark’s right arm, staring challengingly at a glowering Bruce.

“I’m sure you’ll rather play with these...” she languidly rubbed her bosom against Clark before she looked disdainfully at Bruce’s groin, “...than with that tinny winny bit.”

Clark’s temperature sky-rocketed to the heavens and he felt as if he was being boiled alive in molten lava. His face turned a flaming red and he stuttered in panic while the two continued to bristle at each other, drawing the attention of nearby guests.

“I..eh..ah...sug..”

Before Clark could say anything further, a totally and utterly fed up Bruce grabbed him by his neck and kissed him. He sucked at Clark’s lips before biting down, eliciting an excited gasp and Bruce took the opportunity to slide his tongue in, caressing and engaging Clark’s tongue in a heated French kiss. Clark immediately pried himself from Zylie, grabbed Bruce’s ass and pulled him flushed against him. He barely registered the catcalls and wolf whistles that resounded around them as he lost himself in that delicious kiss. Bruce let it continue for a little more before he pulled away, licking his lips in satisfaction before smirking at a livid Zylie.

“Seems like he preferred my tinny winny bit to your big sagging ones.”

With that, Bruce dragged a happily dazed Clark towards the entrance, accompanied by scattered applause from a number of appreciative onlookers.

 

________________

 

Once they were well-hidden in a shadowed corner of the museum’s gardens, Bruce grabbed Clark’s mask and yanked hard, snapping the ribbon that held it in place. He then threw it at Clark and yelled.

“What the fuck is wrong with you! Why can’t you stop letting strangers touch you, kiss you, rub their bodies all over you. Are you a blow-up doll or what! Can’t you bloody tak...”

“I’m sorry,” Clark suddenly grabbed Bruce’s arms and gently kissed his forehead. Bruce froze for a second at the unexpected tenderness before he wrenched himself away, but Clark grabbed him again, this time by the waist.

“I’m really very sorry,” he kissed Bruce’s nose through the mask, his eyes filled with remorseful sadness, and Bruce growled in frustrated anger, his heart clenching at the sight. He pushed hard against Clark, but Clark refused to let go this time.

“I’m sorry for letting the woman touch me,” he kissed Bruce’s cheek, “I’m sorry for forcing you that night,” he kissed the other cheek, “I’m sorry for not apologising soo..,” and Bruce’s hand slammed over Clark’s mouth, preventing him from kissing his lips.

 “Stop your bloody apologising and hands off NOW!”

Clark let go immediately and Bruce turned away from him to hide how badly affected he was. He tore off his leather mask and ran trembling fingers through his hair, struggling to regain his composure. It was so much easier to hate Clark and regard him as a bad egg when Clark was not physically present. But the moment Clark was there – touching him, kissing him, speaking to him with that doleful look in his eyes – and Bruce suddenly wanted to stop feeling resentful towards Clark despite the hurt and the anger Clark had caused him. No one had that kind of impact on him, not even Alfred and Bruce was shaken by how irrational and weak he would become because of Clark.

Bruce flinched when Clark placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke beseechingly, “Bruce, please, I’m really really...”

_Damn it!_

Bruce slapped Clark’s hand away, whipped out the canister and pressed hard, spraying a huge dose of the contents on Clark’s face. Clark stumbled back, coughing and choking at the pungent chemical taste and smell. He frantically wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat, fearing the worst, dismay sitting heavy on his stomach. Belatedly, Clark realised that besides the coughing and the choking, there were no other symptoms that came with exposure to kryptonite – no excruciating pain, no weakness in the limbs and no lessening of his powers. Clark looked up at Bruce in bewilderment and Bruce stared back with an equally puzzled expression on his face. He immediately sprayed a second dose and Clark did not dodge the attack this time. A suspicion had risen in his mind and Clark wanted to confirm if he was right.

True enough, Clark felt nothing. He only wrinkled his nose at the smell, scrunching his face at the ticklish sensation of having tiny particles hitting his skin. Meanwhile, Bruce had unscrewed the canister and poured the contents onto his palm. One look and he knew what had gone wrong.

“Jun, you bastard!” Bruce cursed loudly before he gave an exasperated groan, “Not you as well, Alfred.”

Clark was delighted when he finally pieced together what had happened. He made a mental note to send thank-you gifts to Alfred, as well as, the person called Jun. Whatever their reasons might be for setting Bruce up, Clark was not going to waste this precious chance they had given to him.

‘Is there anything else you’ll like to try?”

Bruce scowled and tried to flee, even though he knew it was too late.

“Oh no, not so fast. Can’t have you leaving when it’s my turn.”

And Bruce was unable to see or move, and he was not even standing up. He had been wrapped tightly from his head to his calves in what felt like cloth, and a strong pair of arms carried him easily, cradling him against Clark’s chest. Bruce shouted threats and curses while he twisted desperately, trying to reach for a batarang tucked in his belt. His words were cut off when something soft and warm pressed against his lips through the cloth.

“Just a little while, Bruce” Clark apologised, “And please forget about your weapons. They’re now stuck in a tree, and so are all your electronic devices."

With that, Bruce felt a change in pressure and he gasped as a rush of cold air pressed his body against Clark. They were airborne and there was nothing he could do until Clark reached whatever destination he was taking him to.

The next moment, Bruce found himself staring at a sea of stars, his ears ringing in the sudden silence after the incessant noise of rushing wind. It then occurred to him that he was no longer tied up and he whirled around, searching for Clark. He found him standing near some palm trees, slowly folding his cape while he watched Bruce quietly. Bruce stared at him in frustration, trying to discern Clark’s motives while he quickly took stock of his surroundings.

The two of them were standing on an oval platform whose clever landscaping created an illusion that they were on an island. An expanse of dark blue water spread out around them, and Bruce realised that the sea of stars he saw earlier was but a reflection of the skies above them. Bruce moved to the edge of the platform, still keeping an eye on Clark while he checked the waters and estimated the distance from the platform to the semi-circular amphitheatre before him. His heart sank when he caught the glimmer of smooth transparent panels that ran across the entire perimeter of the pool, cutting off all access to the amphitheatre. Even if he could make the swim (if Clark did not drag him back first), without Batman’s gauntlets or gadgets, it was impossible to scale those 3-metre high panels.

“Bruce.”

“Shut up, Mr Kent.”

Bruce stalked to the rocky façade at the back of the platform, hoping to find an entryway, and Clark trailed after him.

"Bruce, I need to talk to you.”

“What fucking place is this!” Bruce threw his hands up in the air, unable to find any doors or passageways. There were also no security cameras that he could make use of too. Bruce was stuck until Clark chose to fly him out of here.

“It’s the dolphinarium at the Ark.”

“I didn’t ask you so don’t you dare talk to me,” Bruce growled and shot Clark a dirty look.

”But I need to talk to you,” Clark pleaded, ”It’s important and I shouldn’t have done it like that that night. I want to re-do what had happened in a much better way so please, Bruce, just let me.”

Bruce clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as the hurt exploded in him, and he blinked back a sudden aching wetness in his eyes.

“So that’s your reason for bringing me here.”

“Yes, I really want to do it properly this time.”

“Of course, you would,” Bruce smiled bitterly, a slight tremor in his voice, “You didn’t get a chance to get off the other time, right. So what is it you want this time? A handjob? A blowjob? Or do you want to just stick your fucking dick in? ”

Clark blinked. Something was off as if the two of them were not quite on the same page.

“Bruce, are we...”

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” Bruce shrugged off his coat and let it drop to the ground, “I can’t escape from you anyway, and I prefer not to have sex rough and hurtful. It will just make Batman’s job a lot harder.”

Bruce began unbuttoning his shirt, the fake mask of playboy Wayne plastered on his face, fragile and barely able to cover the bleakness in his eyes, the sickened look on his face.

Clark widened his eyes in realisation, and he wanted to smack himself for his poor choice of words which had led to this terrible misunderstanding.

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Clark grabbed Bruce’s hands preventing him from undoing anymore buttons, “I don’t want to have sex...no, I mean I want to...No! That’s not the point...”

“ _Zhao kh ahp rrup_!” Clark shouted and knelt before Bruce, “ _Zhao kh ahp rrup,_ Bruce. I love you, Bruce. I love you! God, I love you so much and I shouldn’t have said it like that that night. You deserved to hear these words in a much better place than that stupid wet and dirty rooftop. That’s why I brought you here. I want to tell you _Zhao kh ahp rrup_ with the stars and the heavens as our witnesses.”

“What bloody nonsense is this!” Bruce tried to yank his hands out of Clark’s grasp, growing more agitated by the minute, “You didn’t say anything like that that night. You just stuck your bloody hand in my pants and then you disappeared for three weeks. Three fucking weeks! No text, no calls, no nothing! And you dare to tell me you love me after putting me through hell! Because of you, I could not do a single fucking thing without having you barging into my thoughts and upsetting my emotions. Do you know how hard it was to go anywhere without having something popping up to remind me of you. And now you want to make my life even harder by telling me you love me! That’s bullshit, Clark! Take those bloody words back right this minute. I don’t want them screwing me up and making me think of you even more.”

Bruce was panting and trembling, swept away by a whirlwind of emotions, overwhelmed by Clark’s words and the sudden turn of events. He kicked hard at Clark, but Clark grabbed his leg and pulled him forward. With a startled yelp, Bruce fell onto Clark who then flipped him over, and Bruce was flat on his back, staring furiously up at Clark.

“You fucking ass...mmph!”

Clark grasped Bruce’s face and kissed him passionately. His lips chased after Bruce’s, refusing to let them be parted, swallowing every word before they could spill out from Bruce’s mouth. He kept at it until Bruce ran out of breath and finally stopped fighting against him. Clark then pulled back slowly while his fingers traced over Bruce’s jawline and down the sides of his neck, his eyes shining with hope, relief and lots of love.

“Thank you,” Clark smiled down at Bruce, “for thinking of me all the time.”

Bruce gazed at him, slightly dazed and still trying to catch his breath.

“Thank you,” Clark’s smile grew wider, “for getting so upset over me.”

Bruce frowned, not sure what Clark was trying to get at.

“Thank you,” Clark’s smile was as brilliant as the stars above him, “for telling me you love me.”

Bruce blinked then sputtered, “Wait a minute! When did I ever said that.”

“Just now. In about 136 words about how I was always on your mind, wherever you go and whatever you do.”

“That’s because I was plotting my revenge against you,” Bruce spoke defensively, not quite able to look Clark in the eye, “I was not thinking of you in the way you think I’m thinking of you. So wipe that misguided notion from your brain and get the fuck off me.”

Clark sighed, not surprised at Bruce’s tenacity to deny his own feelings when it came to matters that involved his heart. He sat up and Bruce scooted away from him.

“I don’t believe you, Bruce.”

“That’s none of my business.”

“But it is. I love you and I can’t just let the matter rest like this. The uncertainty, the pathetic clinging to even the most miniscule hope that I still stand a chance with you...it’ll eat me up, eat into my thoughts, and I won’t be able to stop thinking and hoping and...I need to know, Bruce. Can’t you just be honest with me?”

Clark’s voice trailed off and Bruce softened at the sight of Clark’s pained and wretched expression. He wished that Clark had not fallen for someone like him. He did not deserve to go through so much for Bruce who had nothing to offer him back. He only had pain, anger and fear. Whatever love he once had, Bruce could not remember how it felt like anymore. So how could he drag Clark into a relationship when he himself had no idea how to love him back.

“Can’t you just let it go,” Bruce appealed with an air of irritated frustration, ‘It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.”

“Who says so,” Clark grabbed Bruce and hugged him tight, ”To me you’re worth it. Despite all your idiosyncrasies, your inability to observe basic courtesies, your tendency to flare up rather than forgive, you’re still damn attractive to me. You’ve no idea how much of my heart you have captured by just being you, this you that I am lucky to meet out of the billion lives on this planet.”

Clark pulled back and looked at Bruce, his voice earnest and intense, ”I want you, Bruce, just as you are and I don’t need you to do anything, except accept.”

Bruce was terrified. The words Clark spoke now were even more potent than his earlier ‘I love you’. He clung desperately to his dwindling desire to resist Clark, throwing up as many reasons as possible to stave off the inevitable.

“It won’t work. It’ll just complicate our lives.”

“I don’t think so. Our lives are already complicated as it is so I’m sure adding love to it will not make much difference to the complicatedness that already existed. And we’re doing fine so far with all the complicatedness so I’m sure our relationship will not be too complicated for us to handle.”

Bruce’s head ached from hearing the word ‘complicated’ so many times, and he tried to thwart Clark with another reason.

“It’s useless! We’ll just be a liability to each other.”

“But this happens to anyone who is alive. The lovers down the street, the mother and child, the strangers trapped in a hostage situation. We’ll always be someone else’s weakness, Bruce. It hasn’t stopped the world from falling in love so why should we let it stop us.”

 “We live too far apart. Long-distance relationship sucks.”

“I can fly at Mach 9350 and I believe that’s faster than the speed of a bullet.”

Bruce really hated Clark’s glib tongue and he yelled out the next thought without thinking.

“We’re two men!”

“So what? If you’re worried about the sex part, I’m sure there’s enough materials online to help us out. And if you’re worried about marriage, it has been legalised already in some states.”

“Who says that I’m worried about such stuff,” Bruce muttered under his breath, turning slightly pink at how stupid he had been.

“That’s great. I’m glad you are not against having sex or even getting married to me,” Clark teased and kissed Bruce when he glowered at him.

Bruce sighed and turned solemn.

“You know that I’ll never trust you completely. I’ll always be prying into your secrets and keeping tabs on your weaknesses. That’s not fair to you.”

“I can live with that,” Clark cupped Bruce’s face, looking seriously at him, “I know you’ll be like this from the start, and I’m ok with it. So please stop trying to deny this specialness we have and let us have a chance to be together.”

Bruce was at a loss for words. He was somewhat furious at losing to Clark and his arguments, somewhat annoyed at himself for caving in, and to his surprise, somewhat happy, a tiny spark of tingling warmth that drew out an upward twitch in his mouth.

Clark lit up at that tiny smile.

“I’m going to take this as a yes,” Clark touched that precious smile with his fingertips, “Please let it be a yes.”

After a moment’s pause which seemed to stretch on for an eternity in Clark’s mind, Bruce finally drew Clark’s fingers from his lips, took a deep breath and entwined their fingers together.

“There, that’s my answer,” Bruce mumbled, staring down at the ground, stiff and awkward.

“Thank you!” Clark shouted as he picked Bruce up and swung him around much to Bruce’s chagrin. He laughed and laughed, a delightful uplifting sound bursting with so much happy gladness that Bruce’s angry retort died in his throat, awed by how a simple gesture from him could wrought such joy in Clark. An irresistible desire to see more reaction from him spurred Bruce into action and he kissed Clark, teasing and suggestive, never quite deepening the kiss. With a growl, Clark bit Bruce’s lip and then jerked away, leaving a confused Bruce feeling quite silly with his head tilted and his mouth parted, anticipating Clark’s entry.

“Sorry, got to go.”

“Huh?” Bruce questioned before his, “Not again!” faded away into the distance.

The two of them were gone just as two security guards crested the top of the amphitheatre, their torchlights probing the area for intruders, never noticing the abandoned coat lying forlornly on the oval platform.

 

________________

 

Bruce was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering violently as he made a beeline for the warmest spot in the room. He literally dived onto the queen-sized bed, wrapped the blanket tightly around himself before pulling it over his head. Bruce burrowed deeper into his self-made cocoon, sighing in relief as feeling returned to his numbed extremities. He was definitely going to ban Clark and his propensity to grab and fly. It was no fun at all to be zipping through the atmosphere without his coat and with his shirt half unbuttoned. To make matters worse, Clark’s clothing had turned icy cold within seconds, absorbing whatever little heat left in him, and Bruce felt like a piece of meat stuck in the freezer.

All of a sudden, the bed dipped and someone pulled Bruce, still wrapped in his blanket, against a better source of heat. Bruce snuggled closer, luxuriating in the delicious warmth until the blanket was pulled from his head. He found Clark half-draped over him, his head propped up on one elbow, grinning happily. Bruce rolled his eyes and was about to bury himself under the blanket again when he froze in his track.

“Why are you naked?”

“I’m not. My boxers are still on. And please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just that my clothes are too cold and wet.”

Bruce muttered under his breath about cutting off someone’s lying tongue and making skewers out of it. (It’s Clark’s bedroom and he could change in an instant if he wanted.) His eyes strayed over Clark’s perfectly contoured pecs and prominent collarbones, unable to stop himself from checking Clark out. It was his first time seeing Clark so undressed, and Bruce was quite curious.

“I can show you more, if you want,” Clark dragged himself up and straddled Bruce, arching his shoulders to show off his body.

“Get lost, musclehead,” Bruce made an imperious shooing gesture before he flung the blanket back over his head, his heart rate spiking up.

“Why should I? It’s my bed and my blanket,” Clark tugged hard but Bruce refused to give up the blanket even though he was quite warm already. Neither of them refused to back off and what ensued was a tug-of-war and the poor blanket, unable to take the stress, tore in half. Clark nearly fell off the bed while Bruce fell hard against the headboard. They stared at each other for a moment before Bruce burst into laughter at the ridiculous sight of a ‘naked’ Clark clutching a piece of torn fabric.

Clark was stunned. He had seen Batman smirked in amusement, heard billionaire Wayne’s raucous insincere laughter, but never seen Bruce laugh in such a light-hearted manner. It was such a wonderful carefree sound that Clark wanted to hear even more. He grabbed hold of Bruce’s left ankle, tossed the shoe and sock aside and with irrepressible mischief twinkling in his eyes, Clark tickled the sole of his foot mercilessly.

“Hey! Wh..What are you..” Bruce stuttered in shock, “St...stop, Clark!”

Bruce kicked hard with his other foot, stifling an insane urge to giggle. But Clark seized it, dropped his left foot and proceeded to give the right one the same treatment. Bruce writhed helplessly, his chest heaving in an effort to keep quiet, and Clark was disappointed.

“Hmm...doesn’t seem to be working.”

Clark let go and Bruce flopped onto his back, breathing heavily when he felt his shirt being pushed up.

“No! Stop!” Bruce yelled frantically, scrambling to get away, “I’m sorry about the blanket. I didn’t mean to, I’ll pay...” Bruce’s voice ended in a high-pitched gasp as Clark gleefully attacked his waist which turned out to be Bruce’s weakest spot. It was just too much and Bruce dissolved into fits of laughter. He wriggled and twisted in a futile attempt to get away as a rosy hue blossomed across his face, down his neck and right up to the tip of his ears.

“Pls..ease, Clark, Jus...St..Cl...ark! I can’t...,” Bruce begged desperately, tears glistening in his eyes while his disarrayed shirt drew Clark’s attention to a pert nipple peeking out enticingly.

Clark’s breath quickened and his eyes darkened. A hunger to see Bruce come undone out of pleasure and not from laughter overtook him, and his hands slowed into a lazy caress. They drifted from Bruce’s waist to his defined abs, tracing over the contours of each perfectly-toned muscle, marvelling at how they moved beneath his fingers with each lungful of air that Bruce took to regain his breath.

Bruce squirmed, his overly-stimulated nerves sensitive to even the lightest touch, and he tried to bat Clark’s hands away. But Clark captured one of his hands instead and brought it to his lips. He flicked his tongue across Bruce’s palm before he drew Bruce’s thumb into his mouth, sucking as if it was a most delicious piece of candy, his teeth scraping gently at his fingertip.

“What are you doing!” Bruce shivered and tried to snatch his hand away but Clark’s grip was unbreakable. He swallowed hard as Clark slowly slid his thumb out, all the while watching Bruce with an intense desire in his eyes.

“A sampling of what I want to do to you,” Clark spoke, his voice low and husk, “I want to do this too,” Clark nibbled the fleshy part of Bruce’s palm, “and this,“ Clark showered kisses over the back of his hand, “and this,” Clark bit Bruce’s inner wrist, relishing the sudden hitch in Bruce’s breath before he soothed the bitten spot with his tongue.

“I want to give you pleasure, Bruce,” Clark pressed his growing arousal against Bruce’s, his movements light and teasing, “Will you let me, please?”

“No.”

Bruce’s breathy reply did not match the rapid beating of his heart and the involuntary flex of his hips when he felt Clark against him. He glowered crossly, partly to hide his flustered awkwardness (he would rather die than say yes to that cringe-worthy question), and partly because Clark had an irritating knowing grin on his face.

“At least your body is more honest than you are,” Clark laughed, soft and warm. He fondly kissed Bruce’s tensed jawline and tightly-pressed lips, his fingers soothing and gentle as they caressed his hair, and finally, Bruce with an exasperated huff, grabbed him by his neck.

“Stupid boy scout,” muttered Bruce.

And kissed him fiercely, swiping his tongue quick and rough against his lips, demanding to be let in to play in Clark’s mouth. Clark happily complied, sucking Bruce’s tongue into his own while his hands ran down Bruce’s chest and zeroed in on those enticing nipples he had seen earlier. He pinched then scratched his nails back and forth, using the texture of Bruce’s shirt to stimulate him further. Caught by surprise, Bruce cried out, sweet thrilling sparks flitting through his nerves as heat pooled low in his body. He flushed and gave Clark a glare while his hands shot out to twist Clark’s nipples savagely, smirking in satisfaction when Clark yelped in startled pain and pleasure.

“So Superman has other weaknesses after all,“ Bruce smiled wickedly and twisted Clark’s nipples again.

And found his hands pinned above his head, while Clark loomed over him, growling dangerously.

“I should just tie you up!”

But Clark did not. Instead, he tightened his one-handed grip on Bruce’s wrists, and with an impatient jerk of his other hand, he yanked Bruce’s shirt open. Clark latched hungrily onto Bruce’s nipple. He swirled his tongue around the areola before he licked, sucked and grazed his teeth against the hard nub, savouring the shudders and the stifled little sounds that Bruce was making. With a final parting nip that had Bruce arching his back, Clark shifted his mouth to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention to detail, while his agile fingers continued to torment the one he had just abandoned.

Bruce tossed his head wildly, broken whimpers slipping out despite his best efforts to keep them in. Embarrassment (God! He never knew he could become so hard so fast from just his nipples.) painted splashes of red across his face and chest, while desperation drove him to thrust his erection against Clark’s muscular abs, craving for more friction. But it was not enough, and a mental image of Clark sucking his thumb flooded Bruce’s mind, making his cock twitch in anticipation. Bruce grew even more agitated as Clark seemed to be taking his own sweet time, his hand and mouth a teasing torture over his feverish skin, not heading towards where Bruce most wanted Clark to be.

“Will you fucking hurry up!” Bruce snarled, his voice raw with need as he pushed both his feet against Clark’s thighs, trying to get him to go lower, straining against that hateful grip around his hands.

With a naughty glint in his eyes, Clark suddenly stopped all his actions and used his body weight to pin Bruce down, restricting his movements.

“Hurry up and do what, Bruce? I won’t know if you won’t tell me.”

Bruce groaned in frustrated agony. He glared heatedly at Clark, his stormy eyes a seething pool of lust and fury, and shivers ran down Clark’s spine at how fucking hot Bruce was. He licked his parched lips, wetting them slowly and Bruce finally snapped.

“Your fucking mouth on my dick now!”

Excitement coursed through Clark like liquid fire as he surged forward to obey him. He let go of Bruce’s hands and in a blink of an eye, Bruce’s pants and boxers were lost somewhere in the room, and Bruce trembled, vulnerable and exposed, pre-cum beading at his slit-like opening.

Without breaking eye contact with Bruce’s fixated gaze, Clark lowered his head and lapped at the oozing pre-cum while his hands slid slowly up and down the hard length, enjoying the feel and the taste that was totally Bruce. He licked around the foreskin, making wet slurping noises before he fitted his mouth over the rounded head, sucking with enough pressure to keep Bruce teetering on the edge without going over.

Bruce panted harshly while he tangled his hands in Clark’s hair, tugging and pulling, trying to get Clark to go all the way down on him. He was so desperate, the fiery ache for release burning him up with no surcease in sight, and words tumbled out of Bruce’s lips in an incoherent mess.

“Please I please...ahhh!...don’t...Clark, Clark!...just...let me...!”

Clark smirked, Bruce’s pleas sweet and gratifying to his ears. In one swift motion, Clark took his erection all the way into his mouth, deep-throating him, and Bruce choked out a scream, his hips bucking helplessly into the wonderful wet heat. He was so close, almost there, just a little more and the final push came when Clark fondled his testicles, squeezing and rubbing. With a wordless cry of utter delight, Bruce came hard, pumping spurts of salty-bitter ejaculation into Clark’s mouth.

Clark swallowed every single drop, only sliding Bruce’s shaft out when Bruce had nothing left to give and was protesting feebly. He sat back on his haunches and drank in the sight of a spent Bruce, sprawled and lax on his bed, eyes glazed, chest heaving, marked by hickeys from Clark’s earlier handiwork. Clark could smell the sex in the air, taste Bruce deep in his mouth, and a possessiveness unfurled within him at the thought that he and only he could make Bruce become like this.

Pushing Bruce’s splayed legs further apart, Clark nuzzled Bruce’s softening cock, inhaling the heady musk as he nibbled the soft juncture where his inner thigh met his groin. His hand crept into his own boxers and Clark shifted restlessly as he coated his fingers with the generous amount of pre-cum, for once glad that his Kryptonian physiology was different from a human. He then pressed a slick wet finger against the tight ring of muscles, slipping in a little, and his breath hitched when the muscles clamped down on pure reflex.

Bruce hissed at the sudden intrusion, the sensation familiar yet alien (his last experimental foray into this area, many years back, had not been a very pleasant one). Sensing his stiff tension, Clark looked at Bruce with deep heartfelt passion.

“Please, _Zrh omin_.”

And Bruce’s heart lurched at that extremely intimate noun which a Kryptonian would never use except to address their only love. There was no equivalent in English for that word whose meaning encompasses more than just partner, mate, spouse but includes a deeper connotation that spoke of a long-term bond between two equals.

Bruce sighed, touched yet troubled by that one word. It was hard for him to understand why Clark would value him so much. But maybe just for tonight, he would just let Clark...and Bruce flung his arm over his eyes, speaking in a barest whisper.

“You’ve better make it good or you’ll never get to do this again.”

Clark’s heart was about to burst as he kissed Bruce hard, his finger sliding in easily as Bruce consciously relaxed his muscles. He carefully quickened his pace, massaging Bruce’s perineum and mouthing his testicles while he worked a second finger in. His long middle finger quested for, found and pressed against Bruce’s prostate, wrenching a sharp piercing cry from Bruce as he was hit by a supercharged jolt of electrifying pleasure.

Clark grinned and stepped up his efforts, alternating between hard pushes and light gliding strokes, and before long, Bruce was writhing and gasping out sweet little noises, pre-cum once again glazing his cock with a beautiful sheen. The titillating stimulation of Clark’s three fingers scissoring and slicking his hole, only made Bruce ache for something bigger and better, and he hitched his legs up, opening them wider.

“In now! Your dick in me all the way in!”

Clark moaned, undisguised lust dilating his pupils, his restraint gone in an instant at such wantonness from Bruce. With a final twist of his fingers, Clark pulled them out, and was back in a flash, boxers gone, his hands gripping Bruce’s thigh just below the back of his knees, pushing his legs further down and wider apart. A sob of breathless anticipation spilled out from Bruce’s lips at the feel of Clark against him, his erection probing and smearing more pre-cum in his twitching hole. Sucking in a deep breath, Clark pressed in and Bruce threw his head back, his body arched, his lips parted, unable to articulate a single sound as he was breached and inexorably filled with scorching heat and hard delicious goodness.

Clark did not stop until he was fully sheathed, sweat beading his skin and droplets falling and staining Bruce. He panted and shuddered, barely able to keep himself still in that enveloping hot tightness as he waited for Bruce to adjust to his girth. His eyes were dark and feral as they watched Bruce struggle to catch his breath, body quivering, pale scarred skin sweat-dampened, amorous and ravished.

With an experimental shallow thrust that had both of them moaning aloud in unison, Clark set to work, each time pulling out even more and plunging back in with quick powerful flex of his hips. Wet smacking of flesh against flesh flavoured their erotic act as they moved together in a synchronised undulating rhythm – Bruce rocking hard against Clark and Clark thrusting back just as hard and rough, always making sure to hit that sweet spot which drove Bruce crazy. Broken gasps and jumbled entreaties echoed shamelessly in the air as their world was reduced to only the giving and receiving of thrilling toe-curling sensations, pushing each other closer and closer towards the edge.

Clark shifted and hitched Bruce’s legs onto his shoulders, freeing his hand to pump Bruce’s shaft while penetrating him at a deeper angle. Bruce jerked frantically, pushing himself into Clark’s grip and back onto Clark’s shaft with wild abandonment, his moans low and frenzied. The intensity from the double-stimulation proved to be too much and Bruce finally came, harder than before, cries of gratifying joy bursting from him as he splattered white across himself and Clark. His muscles involuntarily squeezed and contracted rhythmically around Clark’s erection, and Clark shouted in ecstasy, stars exploding before his eyes as he bucked quick and uncontrollably into Bruce, coming deep inside him.

Clark continued to move, slow and languid, within Bruce, showering kisses as he rode out his climax. The euphoric afterglow and the deliciousness of finally taking Bruce deep and hard, only made Clark greedy for even more and he hardened again, glad that he did not have to worry about refractory time due to his unique physiology.

“Don’t!” Bruce shuddered when he felt Clark’s reaction, “Clark, I can’t...not now,” his voice hoarse and rasp, doubtful that he had anything left to go for another round.

“Sure,” Clark was quick to reply. He pulled out and before Bruce could even sigh in relief, Clark had flipped him onto his hands and knees, pushing his way back in while he kneaded Bruce’s muscled ass, leaning over to leave a lovely hickey on Bruce’s nape.

“Noo....” Bruce sobbed out a cry, his muscles spasming, his body overly-sensitive and overly-stimulated.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for three years,” Clark murmured while he nibbled Bruce’s ear, “So you owe me two more. One orgasm for each year I’ve waited.”

With that, Clark started thrusting again, and Bruce was once again drawn into an inescapable web of sweet sexual gratification, his protesting words melting into breathy moans and whimpers, totally at the mercy of Clark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Zhao khahp rrup - I love you  
> Definition of each word taken from Kryptonian.info while sentence structure is purely made up by me and may not be accurate.
> 
> (2) Zrhomin - Kryptonian for husband (masculine)  
> Definition taken from Kryptonian.info - use of the versions of this word should be considered extremely impolite or extremely intimate and are best avoided - I decided to re-interpret the extremely intimate part of the definition, adding my own interpretation that was pure conjecture. 
> 
> (3) The Ark is a floating offshore aquarium at Metropolis University where Clark studied. Apparently, there was a comic about Clark falling in love with a mermaid there, so I decided to use the venue in my story.
> 
> Next Chapter: Superman moved in with the Bat


	5. Superman Moves in with the Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Due to unexpected events, Alfred invited Clark to move into Wayne Manor. From now on, the focus will be more domestic as the two learn to live with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a terrible mistake of posing Chapter 5 as Part 3 of this series, and got a ton of negative comments, hence I deleted the work and repost it here as Chapter 5. 
> 
> Due to the comments, I realised how terrible a person Clark appeared to be in this chapter, especially for someone who had not read the earlier chapters and had no context to fall back on. Hence, everyone ended up hating Clark and I felt so bad about it.
> 
> Please let me know if this chapter is acceptable and does it fit the story. I'm giving it one last try. If everyone agrees that Clark is a dick here, I intend to thrash the chapter and start over again. Appreciate your comments greatly.

Clark slammed Bruce into the bed, fists twisting the front of his pyjamas and the collar tightened like a noose around Bruce’s throat.

“Do you know how long it took me to find that place!” Clark squeezed the words out through clenched teeth, “And you have to go and ruin it all. You...you...childish immature spoilt brat!”

In retaliation, Bruce snarled and jabbed a batarang at Clark’s face. He hissed sharply in pain as it was wrenched from his grasp and his hands pinned above his head. Bruce glared, eyes bloodshot and bleary, and then just gave up, too fucking tired to care. He had not slept in days and was about to turn in when Clark had burst through the open French doors and tossed him onto his bed.

Bruce’s eyes drifted shut. The softness of the sheets and the cosy warmth of Clark’s body heat were too sleep-inducing. However, his reaction only ended up enraging Clark further.

“Don’t you dare avoid the issue by falling asleep!” Clark yelled, letting go of Bruce’s hands to shake him like a rag doll, “I know the culprit is you. I just can’t understand why must you be so extreme just because I had...”

Clark froze at an ominous click of a gun cocking and ready to fire. He looked to the doorway and caught sight of Alfred standing there, a pump-action shotgun pointed steadily at his head.

“Good morning, Mr Kent,” Alfred greeted him pleasantly, “Will you kindly please remove yourself from Mr Wayne. It has been such a chore coaxing him to go to bed, and I will not have you undo the efforts I have made.”

Before Clark could make his reply, Bruce butted in, voice slurred and mind hazy with fatigue.

“He’s lying, Clark,” Bruce patted Clark’s cheeks absent-mindedly, “Alfred did not coax me. He drugged me with that last cup of...”’

Whatever else Bruce wanted to say was cut off by a huge loud yawn, and his eyes slipped close once again.

Clark, still seething with anger, defiantly jerked Bruce awake, eliciting a despairing moan from him. He eyed Alfred mockingly.

“You can’t hurt me with that.”

“Oh I beg to differ, Mr Kent. These bullets are quite unique. They are rigged to explode and disperse enough kryptonite crystals to make you very miserable for a long while. Unfortunately, it will not be lethal though as per the request of Mr Wayne. That is how in love he is with you.”

Bruce immediately told Alfred to shut up, protesting in a jumble of words that he did not and would not have such feelings for Clark. Ignoring him, both Alfred and Clark stared quietly at one another, each waiting for the other to make the next move, and neither willing to be the first to do so. The tensed silence stretched and stretched when out of the blue, a soft snore disrupted their standoff stalemate.

The two of them looked at Bruce and found him utterly gone, body limp, head lolling back, finally succumbing to the siren call of sleep. Clark glowered, pissed and frustrated as another snore drifted through the air. He had yet to settle his score with Bruce, and now, his anger was without a target to vent on.

“Mr Kent,” Alfred called out as he flicked the safety on and rested the rifle on his shoulder, “Shall we leave Mr Wayne be and have a cup of tea instead? He really do need to sleep as he had gone without it for close to 52 hours.”

At Alfred’s words, Clark finally noticed the signs of Bruce’s exhaustion – dark circles beneath his eyes, cracked and dry lips and a pale worn-out demeanour. Assuaged by guilt and bugged by a surge of concern for him, Clark gently laid Bruce down and shifted off him to sit at the edge of the bed.

“You’ll truly be the death of me,” Clark murmured as he straightened his pyjamas and swept stray locks of hair from Bruce’s face.

“Yes, he can be quite so,” Alfred agreed with an affectionate wry smile, “But we cannot help but still care for him, can we?”

Clark sighed, fully understanding Alfred’s feelings. You just cannot ignore and leave Bruce be no matter how terribly trying and vexing he can be. Maybe it was all that stubborn relentless determination to do everything on his own, no matter the cost. It just makes Clark want to help him as he cannot bear to see him suffer and fail, not after giving so much of himself.

After fluffing his pillow and making sure that Bruce was comfortable, Clark drew a blanket over his slumbering form. He reached out a hand and caressed Bruce’s cheeks, mixed emotions flickering across his face. He loved Bruce dearly but this time round, Clark found it hard to forgive him that easily.

Since Alfred had already left, Clark made his way to an ‘apartment’ tucked in the east wing of Wayne Manor. This is where Alfred would be, if he is not needed elsewhere. It was also where Bruce lived in before he left to train himself. For quite some time after his parents’ death, both of them, especially Bruce, avoided spending too much time in Wayne Manor unless they had to. There were just too much memories infused in the stately home, especially in the west wing where the family lived. So Alfred had remodelled a part of the servants’ quarters, creating a new space closer to his own rooms. He could then keep a watchful eye over Bruce and stop him from trying to live it out in one of the garden sheds.

A steaming cup of chamomile was waiting for Clark when he stepped into the kitchen in the ‘apartment’. Slipping into one of the high teak chairs that lined the kitchen counter, Clark picked the cup up and took several sips. The liquid filled his mouth with a soothing herbal taste, coursing down his throat to warm him from within. Clark let out a long slow breath as the pent-up tension eased its tight clutch around his chest.

“Ready to explain your unusual behaviour this morning?” Alfred asked as he topped up Clark’s half-emptied cup, eyeing him with a small frown of disapproval.

Clark winced and tugged awkwardly at the rumpled suit that was the trademark of his civilian identity. He had been so furious that all rational thoughts had combusted instantaneously and he had shot off with only one notion left in his head – get his hands on that infuriating Bruce.

“I know I shouldn’t have come here like this but Bruce had really gone too far this time.”

With an exasperated huff that ruffled the fringe of his hair, Clark reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a crumpled letter. He slapped it on the countertop before crossing his arms, staring moodily at the manicured greenery, bright and fresh outside the tall windows.

Alfred, with an eyebrow quirked, unfolded the letter and began to read.

 

_Dear Mr Clark Kent,_

_We regret to inform you that this is an eviction notice. You have until the end of next week to vacate the current premises that you are residing in._

_This is due to your inability to pay rent for four months as shown in our records (refer to attached). The management regards this as a serious breach of contract and hereby made the decision to terminate your lease._

“And you think that Mr Wayne is the one who did this?”

“If not him than who else! I’ve never been late in my rent. My cheque book clearly stated so. But somehow, days after the masquerade, four months of rent mysteriously returned to my bank account and I got this instead,” Clark glared at the letter still in Alfred’s hands and suddenly stood up, too agitated to remain seated.

“The only one with the means and the motivation is Bruce! I know our...” Clark faltered, unable to say the word ‘sex’ in front of Alfred, “...was a little overboard, I just never expected him to be so drastic. How could he do such a thing! How could he be so...argghhh!”

Clark flung his hands in the air and began pacing furiously, struggling against an urge to dash upstairs so that he could wake Bruce up and yell at him again. As a result, he failed to see a gleam in Alfred’s eyes that looked suspiciously like delight. Upon reading the letter, Alfred had already figured out who the real culprit was, but that was not the reason for his pleased expression (he did feel sorry though for Clark’s unfortunate plight). Rather, Alfred saw this as a chance to insert Clark permanently into Bruce’s life, and he had no intention of wasting such a golden opportunity.

“Mr Kent, I do not think that Mr Wayne will do such a thing.”

Clark paused his pacing and shot a disappointed look at Alfred. He thought that Alfred would be more just and impartial rather than blindly condone Bruce’s wrongdoings.

“I know it is difficult for you to believe me, but Mr Wayne’s style will not have been so indirect. If it was him, he would have just bought the building and booted you out immediately.”

Clark frowned, lips pursed as he ran Alfred’s words through his head, testing them for any kernel of truth.

“But if it’s not Bruce...” his voice trailed off, edged with uncertainty.

“It is definitely not, and I will make sure that the actual culprit apologises to you in due time,” Alfred spoke with a firm conviction that brook no argument.

“So shall we put this aside for now and focus on a matter of greater urgency? You are about to lose your place of residence, Mr Kent, and have you thought of what to do next?”

A wave of sadness washed over Clark. He was about to lose his apartment which he liked very much. Overlooking a quiet dead-end alley and facing a solid brick wall of an adjacent building, the apartment was perfectly suited to his need for secrecy without having to burst his budget. Throw in the large bedroom window (such a breeze for his bigger frame to slip in and out of) and his anti-social neighbours, Clark doubt he could find another place as good as this. That depressed him greatly, and he slumped back into his chair looking lost and miserable.

Alfred sighed and patted Clark’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Please do not fret Mr Kent. Wayne Manor is quite big so you are more than welcome to stay here.”

Alfred’s words were so unexpected that Clark jerked back in shock and almost fell off the chair.

“Did I hear wrongly or did you just ask me to move in here?” Clark gaped at Alfred in incredulous surprise, “Are you sure Bruce won’t bite your head off for daring to suggest something like that?”

Alfred suddenly smirked and Clark gulped nervously at the unusual sight, “Oh, I have my own methods to deal with Mr Wayne, and he will not be able to refuse me.”

That piqued Clark’s curiosity, but the enormity of what was being offered made him stutter instead.

 But...I...this is...you...and Bruce won’t...and you don’t have to...and...” Clark faltered and shook his head in an attempt to clear his messy thoughts.

“Mr Kent, you are actually doing us a favour by moving in.”

“Huh?”

A confused Clark stared at Alfred in puzzlement. How could he be doing them a favour when he would only be intruding into their lives, and without having to fork out a single cent too (not that he could afford the rent for such a place anyway). Knowing Alfred, any attempts to pay for his stay would be rejected immediately and because of this, Clark simply could not accept the offer.

Alfred, on the other hand, was not surprised that Clark had no concept of how much he had impacted Mr Wayne’s and indirectly, Alfred’s life as well. That is the kind of person he is. Clark does not think much of the deeds he had done because to him, they were nothing extraordinary. He just happened to be able to do it, that’s all.

But to Alfred, what Clark had done for Mr Wayne was beyond priceless. He had not only befriended Mr Wayne (which was an amazing feat by itself), he had also fallen in love with him (and that was no easy task at all). And in the process of doing so, Clark had somehow taught Mr Wayne to feel good about being happy. For Mr Wayne avoided happy like the plague. He believed he had no right to it because he had asked his parents to leave the theatre early that fateful night.

“Clark,” Alfred suddenly dropped his butler-stance and smiled with great warmth and sincerity, “You’ve become a dear friend to me, and I’m asking you to move in here as a friend helping out another friend. So please don’t reject my chance to do something for you.”

Clark was taken aback, deeply honoured to be called a friend by Alfred. He returned Alfred’s smile with an equally warm and sincere one, unable to find the words to express the depth of his emotions.

“And we really need you here, or to be more precise, I really need you to be here,” a tinge of wistful sadness graced Alfred’s face as he continued to speak, “I won’t be around forever, Clark, and Bruce has to learn to rely on another. I know it’s selfish of me, but I will like you to be the one to see him through when I’m not available anymore.”

Clark’s heart ached deeply. He was touched by the faith Alfred had in him, yet saddened by the brevity of human life. He was once again reminded of the fact that there was a limit to how much time he could spend with his loved ones. Maybe moving into Wayne Manor was not such a bad idea after all. At least he could see Bruce much more often than he did now, and the thought of they sharing space together under the same roof, was pretty exciting.

With a final weighing of his options, Clark finally nodded his head in acquiescence.

“Thank you,” Alfred bowed in gratitude before reverting back to his butler’s role, “Off you go then, Mr Kent, to pack your bags. I will arrange for the movers to drop by tomorrow morning.”

Clark stood up, took a step and then hesitated. As if reading his mind, Alfred spoke with an amused glint in his eyes,

“And do not worry about Mr Wayne. He may rant and rave but he will learn, much to his dismay, how much he likes having you around.”


End file.
